


All the difference

by lisbei



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bratva Oliver, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Smut, but only at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisbei/pseuds/lisbei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Oliver and Felicity met in Moscow, a year before he came back to Starling City? Oliver is in the Bratva, and Felicity is in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When the dialogue is in italics, the characters are speaking in Russian.

There was a woman tied to a chair in the middle of the room. 

Oliver knew he didn’t slow down as he strode through the warehouse, Anatoli at his side, but he still felt like he was moving in slow motion. His breaths sounded incredibly loud to his ears, and a faint buzzing was drowning out most of what Anatoli was saying, but he still caught phrases which sounded like ‘a little favour, Oliver’ and ‘will be very grateful’. As his hearing returned, along with his peripheral vision, he started noticing other things besides the woman, who was being circled by Sasha and Alexei, two of Anatoli’s men. There was also a youngish guy being held back by some low level thugs – this guy, judging by the cursing and yelling, was American. So was the woman American too? And what could she have done that was so bad, that Anatoli wanted her dead? He looked at Sasha again, this time noticing the unholy glee in his expression, and gritted his teeth.

Alexei was ok, just a kid enjoying the status being in the Bratva gave him. But Sasha was a psycho, no doubt about it. He was bending down, probably whispering some sick shit in the woman’s ear, judging by the tears streaming down her face. He focused on the woman, trying to think of what he was going to do. She looked young, with long black hair, Goth make-up and piercings. They’d gagged her but hadn’t bothered to blindfold her, so she could see all their faces. She knew what that meant. He could see it in her eyes.

Oliver nodded at the kid being held back.

“ _What’s his problem?_ ”

He was careful to speak in Russian, but Anatoli answered in English, walking over to the guy, who was spitting obscenities at them.

“The Irish think they can come to our city, and take our money.”

The guy stopped struggling and stared at Anatoli.

“My father doesn’t know anything about this! This was my idea! Meghan’s just a hacker! She didn’t even do anything yet!”

“And now she’ll be a dead hacker,” Anatoli answered. There was no anger in his voice. Just an icy certainty.

“We can’t touch you, because of your father. Her, on the other hand . . .”

He looked at Oliver, expectantly. Oliver felt a muscle clench in his jaw. He wanted to refuse, to protest, but knew it was pointless. He would have to kill her, unless . . . was there another way?

He walked over to the woman, crouched down and looked her in the eyes, feeling his heart break as he saw a brief flare of hope in them. He shook his head, and told Sasha and Alexei to move away. He knew what he had to do. He just wasn’t sure if he knew how to do it. What if he miscalculated and really killed her? His only real experience with the technique had been Yao Fei using it on him. Then, once they’d been hiding out in the plane, Shado had tried to teach it to him, as best she could, in between Slade making fun of them, and refusing to believe it actually worked. But he’d never actually tried it on anyone, and now he was going to experiment on this poor girl whose only crime, he bet, was getting in over her head.

This was fucked up. He wanted to take the tape off her mouth – what if being short of air made her die for real? What if she suffocated? But that would look too suspicious to Anatoli and the others, so it would have to stay. He could still cut her loose though, and got out his knife. Sasha, who had brightened when he'd assumed that Oliver was going to cut her throat, tried to protest when he applied the knife to the rope around her wrists. Oliver looked at him.

“ _What’s the matter, Sasha? Can’t handle a woman?_ ” He saw Sasha bristle at the contempt in his voice and was glad. And now, it was time.

As soon as she felt the ropes part, she tried to get off the chair, and he slid one arm around her neck, interlocking it with the other behind her head. He pulled her to her feet and started squeezing, and immediately wanted to throw up, but kept his face impassive, as her struggles grew weaker. At first her hands banged weakly against his forearm, but that soon stopped, and he knew he could let go once her heels drummed against the floor. She slumped over on the chair, her eyes open, and he had to suppress a sudden wave of panic. She was dead. He’d squeezed too hard, had done it wrong, and he’d really killed her. He put it out of his mind, sternly telling himself he could lose it later – not now, not while he was still in the shark tank.

Instead of what he really wanted to do, which was empty his gun in Sasha’s smirking face, he strode over to where Anatoli’s men were holding the kid, and dragged him to her. Oliver ripped the duct tape off her mouth, and grabbed the kid's hand and clapped it over her mouth and nose. The kid sprang back, a look of revulsion on his face.

“Jesus. You fucking killed her.”

Sasha rolled his eyes and walked away in disgust, muttering under his breath in Russian. Oliver wasn’t sure, but thought he caught ‘waste of good pussy’, and swallowed hard to control his gag reflex. Anatoli signed to his men to take the kid away, and Oliver crouched down in front of her again, and closed her eyes. He knew he had to move quickly, so he grabbed the woman’s body and slung it over his shoulder before anyone could decide they wanted to help get rid of it.

“Oliver – I can do that for you.”

Oliver stopped, gritting his teeth and taking deep breaths through his nostrils, trying to calm down. Was Anatoli doing this on purpose, speaking to him in English and saying his fucking name? His real name? Then he answered his own question – of course he was. Playtime was over. Oliver had to commit. Once he was sure he had his voice under control, he answered.

“That’s ok, Anatoli. I know a place.”

He walked out, not waiting for an answer. Once he got to his SUV, he put her in the back, as gently as he could. He didn’t dare wake her up here, where he could actually feel an itching between his shoulder blades, where the bullet or knife would land if they decided to take him out. And he really knew a place. He had to get there, because what if Anatoli sent someone to follow him? He slammed the trunk shut, and got into his car, hoping he looked convincing enough for anyone watching.

As he drove to a small wooded area on the outskirts of the city, he had time to think. Too much time. But at least driving in Moscow was its usual mix of traffic jams and insane near misses. Concentrating on the road kept his mind off the half-dead woman in the trunk of his car. He couldn’t tell if he was being followed – the occasional glance in the rear-view mirror showed him one or two cars driving erratically, but that was nothing new.

Why was he doing this? He’d been planning to get out for months now. After every hit Anatoli made him participate in, after every body, every bundle of clothes he was ordered to get rid of, his determination only grew stronger. He had a plan in place, everything was coming together, and Anatoli made him do this? Did he know? Up till now, he’d gotten away with killing criminals – sure, his mind jeered. That makes you less responsible when you clean up after Sasha, who kills _everyone_. Was it because she was American? Would he have done the same for Tatiana? Of course he would have, he realised, if she’d been the one in that chair. They were innocents. He was the killer, here.

He only realised he’d been chewing on the inside of his cheek when he finally arrived at his destination and stopped doing it. He drove off a track and parked under some trees – enough to be partially hidden, only, as no one in the Bratva actually ever feared discovery.

Oliver went to the trunk, and got out a huge shovel, trying to avoid looking at her. How long had it been? How could he have lost track of time? When Yao Fei had done the same to him, it must have been an hour in between ‘killing’ him and reviving him – but had it been less? The thoughts were whirling through his mind as he started digging, still unsure if anyone was watching. He didn’t bother with a deep grave- she was so tiny. The thought struck him like a brick to the head, and he had to lean on the shovel as he vomited, shaking. He had to wake her up. He couldn’t wait any longer. He staggered to the trunk and reached for her, then stopped. What was he going to do if she was really dead? Nothing, he answered himself. Nothing at all. He rubbed his hand over his mouth roughly, and reached for her again. This time he put his fingers on the pressure points, and squeezed.

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, taking a deep breath. She tried to sit up and he pushed her down, shushing her all the while. She looked around her, wildly, trying to see as much as she could in the semi-darkness of the trunk.

“You! What . . . what’s going on? What happened?”

Her voice was shaking, and she looked like she was desperately trying to control herself. He had to calm her down.

“Listen . . . listen to me.”

Her eyes widened even further as she registered his voice, and his speech.

“You’re not Russian!”

She sounded betrayed.

“Look, I can’t explain right now,” he continued, urgently.

“I have to pretend I’m burying you.”

She went deathly pale at his words, and nodded, looking like she was trying not to puke. He reached past her, pulling out a rolled up carpet. Her eyes followed it and then looked at him, accusingly. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Yes, he’d buried bodies before. No, none of them had been young women. That didn’t make it any less wrong. Even though he was about ninety percent sure that he wasn’t being watched anymore, he didn’t want to risk it. So he pretended the carpet was heavy, and threw it into the shallow grave he’d dug, and then filled it in, quickly. He put the spade next to her and paused.

“I have to close the trunk. I’m sorry.”

Oliver met her eyes and wished he hadn’t – the terror had come back to them. But she nodded, visibly gathering her courage, and he closed the lid as gently as he could. He forced himself to get in the driver’s seat casually, and started driving to his apartment. He tried to look for a tail, but found himself too distracted by thoughts of what to do next. He’d only thought as far as saving her life, but now he had to get her to safety – it dawned on him that he was going to have to get her out of the country. How the hell was he supposed to do that? Of course, there was always a way. It depended on how much he was willing to sacrifice for her.

Oliver arrived at the apartment, correction, the Bratva-sponsored apartment, sooner than he’d expected, and parked in the lowest level of the parking garage – the one where he’d strategically smashed most of the lights. He’d also sabotaged the elevator on that side – it was good for him to use the stairs, and there were no cameras in the stairwells. When Anatoli had told him which apartment he should rent, he’d gone over it more than once to check for audio or video surveillance. He hadn’t found anything. If there was something he’d missed – well. They’d both be fucked. But he’d set up some traps at the windows and in the corridors – if they came for him, he’d know. And he’d do her first, and then himself. When the Bratva rolled out the torture, they didn’t mess around. He wouldn’t let that happen to her. Once again, that thought. Where did it come from? What was so special about her? I don’t kill women, he answered. And stormed out of his car, trying to get away from his own thoughts. He opened the trunk slowly, so as not to startle her.

“Listen, we . . .”

It dawned on him that she was holding herself stiffly, and that he couldn’t see her right hand, like she was holding something under her body. Had he left his tools in the back? Oh, crap. He held his hand out to her, trying to suppress the admiration he felt. She was a fighter.

“Give it to me.”

“I don’t-“

“Whatever you’re holding. Is it the screwdriver? I bet it’s the screwdriver.”

She bit her lip, tears rising in her eyes. But she shook her head.

“Look. You stab me in the neck. Right here,” he said, his fingers pressing against his jugular.

“I bleed out. And then what? You’re in Moscow. You have no passport, no money, and if the Bratva find out you’re alive, they’re gonna make you wish you were dead.”

She’d winced when he described himself bleeding to death, and her lips trembled at his last words. Her hand came out from behind her, and he was right – it was the screwdriver. He took it from her fingers, and this time the tears fell in earnest.

“Hey, hey,” he said, trying hide his panic. No, no, he could never deal with tears.

“Don’t cry. Please. I’m going to help you. Here, let me get you out of there.”

He lifted her out of the trunk and she wobbled slightly as he put her down on her feet. He didn’t want to waste any more time, and rushed them up three flights of stairs and a winding corridor, to reach his apartment. Once again, he felt doubt as he opened the door. How sure was he that there wasn’t any surveillance? But he had to stop being paranoid. He pushed her in, and switched on the lights, glad that he’d closed the heavy curtains before he’d left for the day. She stood in the middle of his living room, and once again it struck him how small she was, and how young she looked. But that was all the Goth stuff, right? God, he hoped she wasn’t one of these teenage geniuses – somehow, he’d feel worse if he’d been doing all this to a child.

He wasn’t sure what to call her at first, but then remembered he’d heard the Irish mob guy yelling her name.

“Listen, Meghan-“

“That’s not my real name-“

He found himself looming over her without consciously having moved, and she shrank back in fear.

“Do _not_ tell me your real name!”

He noticed how terrified she looked and tried to moderate his tone.

“You . . . you have to be smarter than this. If I know your real name, and the guys wanted to get it out of me, don’t you think they could do that?”

“Oh.”

“What about the Irish kid, does he know?”

“No . . . I used an alias when I worked for them.”

He was already moving towards his tiny kitchen area when she answered him, and he muttered ‘good, good’ distractedly. Something else had come to mind, and he rummaged in a drawer for a garbage bag. She looked at it, puzzled, when he shoved it into her hands.

“The bathroom’s over there – you need to put all your clothes, and jewelry, and shoes in here.”

She looked at him, horrified. He felt irritated, suddenly. Wasn’t it obvious? Though maybe it was only obvious to him – maybe you’ve killed too many people, and gotten rid of too many identifying features, like clothing, he thought, feeling a wave of self-loathing wash over him. He shook off the thought. He didn’t have time to explain. He turned her towards the bathroom and gave her a little push.

“You can take a shower, and there’s,” he waved his hand in the air, “woman stuff, to take off your make-up. I’ll –“ find you something to wear, he thought, not finishing the sentence out loud.

It took him a while to find an old tracksuit he’d shoved into the back of a closet, around the time Anatoli had told him he needed to dress better, that Russian mobsters only wore sweatpants in bad movies. He never bothered to tell Anatoli why he was wearing the same tracksuit, day in, day out. And that it had nothing do to with movies, bad or otherwise. Anatoli wouldn't understand. He'd never told Anatoli about the hours he'd spent, sitting on the couch, staring into space, waiting for a text which would tell him what to do - which shopkeeper needed to be beaten up, which car needed to be torched, and who needed to be killed. But he got Anatoli’s point, so he put away the track pants, and bought himself a suit.

When Oliver came out of his bedroom and found her standing in the middle of the living room in just a towel, he was slightly stunned, until he realised that he hadn’t actually explained _why_ he needed her to get rid of her clothes. She was biting her lower lip and her eyes were filling with tears as she started to take off the towel, and he spun around, thinking to himself that Shado would have been proud of his reflexes. Though she’d have added that he should have kept his mouth shut, too.

“Jesus Christ! What . . . what are you doing?”

“You said I should-“

“That’s not what I meant!”

He closed his eyes, and counted to ten, not speaking until he was sure he could control his voice.

“I got you this to wear until I can buy you new clothes.”

He carefully extended his arm behind him, and felt her take the tracksuit from him. He waited a few seconds, trying to ignore the rustling sounds behind him, and when he turned around, she was sitting on the couch, looking impossibly young and dwarfed in his clothes. He sat next to her, making sure there was some distance between them. She was biting her lip, and then it seemed she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I just . . . I don’t understand. Why are you helping me?”

“Not because I want to fuck you! You’re just a kid!”

“I’m twenty-two!”

“I’m not a rapist,” he muttered. No, he thought. Just a murderer. Something else occurred to him.

“Did Sasha say something to you?”

She looked puzzled.

“Who?” She thought a little. Then her face hardened.

“Oh, yeah, that creep. ‘When captain come back, he fuck you in asshole.’”

He shook his head, not knowing how to respond to that.

“I didn’t – I don’t do that,” was all he could come up with at short notice.

Her look was challenging.

“You’re a Bratva captain! An American Bratva captain! You’re telling me you don’t run hookers? Liam told me all about it, women and, and _girls_ in containers, like property-”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you!”

He was getting angry now.

“I never accepted any of those jobs, ok? I just-“ kill people, he thought. He had to get out of this. First he got her out, then he’d find a way to get himself out. He tried to calm down.

“This was a test. For me. Because I never wanted to do any of that stuff.”

He looked at her, but she was staring straight ahead.

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, though he could see there were tears in her eyes. A buzzing sound from his phone brought him back from his thoughts, and the message was clear. He had to get going. He looked at her, trying to list the things he was going to have to get for her. The hair, that was going to be a problem.

“You’re going to have to dye your hair, or cut it. Or both.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“This? Oh, this is a wig. I just need some baby oil, and it’ll come off easy.”

Oliver sighed in relief. One less thing to worry about. He’d look at the sizes on her clothes and shoes before he got rid of them, and he’d get her some new stuff. And he’d already come up with a way to get her out of the country. Not really come up with, he thought. It was more of a swap – she would take his place. She would get out, and he would stay.

“Listen, I have to go. There’s bread and jam – I’ll get you something else to eat when I come back.”

He started for the door, looking at his phone again. If he hurried, he could get the girl some clothes before he needed to check in with Anatoli. He looked at the garbage bag on the floor, and groaned inwardly. He had to stop by the hospital, where he’d bribed the janitors to look the other way while he used the incinerator, before he could do any of that.

“Wait!”

She was still sitting on the couch, still looking lost.

“Please. Just tell me. Why are you helping me?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He wanted to atone? He’d done so many bad things? He could still hear Tatsu calling him a monster, and that was before he became Anatoli’s button man. He shrugged. She wouldn’t understand.

“Don’t worry about it. Just stay here. Please.”

He looked her in the eyes and she nodded, slowly. He pushed her out of his mind as he walked to his car – that was one useful thing the Bratva had taught him. Dissociation was just a fancy word for it.

Ten minutes later he pulled up as close as he could to Atrium, where he’d been buying his clothes, and cultivating a pretty sales clerk at a chain store. He had about fifty thousand rubles on him, the equivalent of around seven hundred dollars – surely that would be enough for some clothes and shoes? He looked around him, trying to make sure he wasn’t being followed, or watched. At least Atrium wasn’t one of those malls where the Bratva collected protection – or if it was, he wasn’t the one doing the collecting. He walked up to the store, and Tatiana was outside on a smoke break. She beamed when she saw him, and put out her cigarette hurriedly. Once he explained what he needed her to do for him, she quirked an eyebrow, and pulled him inside, heading for an empty changing room.

“ _First I need you to do something for me, Oliver._ ”

It wasn’t that surprising – they’d slept together a couple of times, even though he’d said couldn’t commit to anything besides sex. And he didn’t want her getting suspicious of their ‘friendship’, though, after the day he’d had, his body wasn’t being very co-operative. He plastered a fake grin on his face and dropped to his knees, pushing her against the wall and pulling her panties off in one quick movement. Her delighted laughter soon turned into whimpers and moans as he started licking and sucking on her clit, and he felt himself responding as her thighs tightened around his ears.

She looked flushed and happy as he rose to his feet unsteadily, and went straight for his zipper, pulling his cock out and giving him a few seconds to grab her ass and lift her up so that she could slide down on it, wrapping her legs around him. He rubbed her clit as she rode, until she squealed her way through another orgasm, and he could let go and come. He collapsed into a chair and zipped himself up, trying to pull himself together. She pulled her clothes on, checked her hair and make-up in the mirror, and gave him one last kiss, before she got him all the clothes he’d asked for - jeans, some t-shirts and sweaters, all in the sizes he’d specified.

He’d stuffed all the clothes in his duffel bag, and thanks to Tatiana he knew where to buy shoes and underwear. And he needed another short stop, before he had to spend a few hours with Anatoli and the guys, so they didn’t suspect anything. Which meant a lot of drinking.

Staggering towards his car at 2 am, Oliver stopped before getting in – the exaggerated gesture almost made him overbalance, and he held onto the car. There was something he’d forgotten. Something. It was there, just out of reach. God, he needed to sober up. Fast. He couldn’t drive like this. He looked around him blearily, and saw the fluorescent glow of golden arches a few blocks away, and lurched towards it. Coffee first. Then he’d remember what it was he still had to do. After ordering the largest, blackest coffee they had, he started to feel more like himself, and less like his brain was floating on a lake of vodka. Food, that was it. He’d promised her food. He filled a take-out bag with burgers, fries, cokes, and more coffee for the road, and drove back to the apartment. He took the long way around, and this time, was sure he hadn’t been followed.

When he opened the door, the lights were on, but he couldn’t see Meghan anywhere. He didn’t want to call out – everything was pretty quiet in the block. There was a glint in a dark corner, and he realised she was sitting on the floor, holding a knife she’d stolen from his kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, but she didn’t react except to look at him, screwing her eyes up slightly.

Something occurred to him.

“Are you near-sighted?”

She nodded.

“I’d taken out my contact lenses, and that’s when they picked us up. Do you think you can get me-“

But he shook his head, cutting her off in mid-sentence.

“It would look too suspicious. I managed to get a friend to buy all this other stuff for me; but I don’t have time to set up someone in optical supplies.”

The smell of the fries must have wafted towards her by then.

“Oh my god. Is that- is that McDonalds?”

She got out of the corner quickly, and he couldn’t help feeling relieved. If she was hungry, she wasn’t giving up. He put the food on the coffee table, and she was halfway through a burger before she stopped and looked at him, and mumbled something. She swallowed, and repeated herself.

“Aren’t you eating anything?”

Oliver stretched and yawned, sleepy, even though his head was buzzing on all the caffeine he’d ingested in a large coffee and two cokes.

“Yeah, I could eat.”

To be honest, since choking her that afternoon, he hadn’t had much of an appetite. But he needed something to soak up all that alcohol, or he’d still be drunk the next morning, and he had more work to do. They both had. He found himself wondering about her question, hours ago. The truth was, he was enjoying himself, doing something useful, and partly being himself, instead of contract killer, Bratva thug. He realised her eyes were closing in between shoving handfuls of fries in her mouth, and took the food out of her hands, trying to be gentle. He put everything that was left in the trash, and when he came back she was already snoring. She didn’t even stir when he carried her to the bedroom, and just mumbled something when he lowered her on her side, in his bed.

Oliver went back to the sofa and lay down, setting his phone alarm for eight. If Anatoli wanted him, he’d message or call. He needed some sleep.

The alarm woke him up, and he groaned. He had a terrible crick in his neck, and he’d slept in his clothes, never a good idea. Shower. He needed a shower. At least he’d eaten something, and drunk some water, so he wasn’t hung over. But he hadn’t slept enough. He snuck a look in his bedroom, and realised she was awake already. She sniffled, but wiped her eyes hurriedly as he put his head in.

He showered quickly, then swore as he remembered he’d have to go into the bedroom to get dressed. He put the towel around his waist and hoped she wouldn’t freak out again, but he didn’t feel like putting on his filthy clothes from last night. She was already on the sofa when he came out, and her eyes widened, then she looked away quickly.

“Uh . . . I’ll just get dressed – you can take the clothes out of the bag.”

He pointed to the duffel bag which he’d left next to the door.

“They’re yours.”

He caught a glimpse of her expression as he turned away – she looked puzzled again. He pushed it aside and got dressed quickly. When he came out again she was in the bathroom, and the duffel bag was gone. She wasn’t showering though – the occasional ‘ouch’ suggested she was taking off the wig.

Might as well make some breakfast, he thought, and he toasted some bread and started making sandwiches, wishing he had peanut butter. He hoped she was ok with instant coffee, because that was all he had in the apartment; when he heard the bathroom door opening, he turned around to ask her that, and froze in place, his mouth open. She looked . . . amazing. She must have found some make-up in the bathroom, because she’d done something to her eyes to make them stand out, and her natural hair was brown and curly, and had he mentioned that he might be falling in love? Because it sure was starting to feel that way. And it was pointless. Because once he got her out of Moscow, he could never see her again, if he wanted her to live.

“That bad, huh?”

She tugged at her hair, self-consciously.

“No!”

He cringed. That was louder than he'd intended. But she didn't jump, or look weirded out. In fact, he was pretty sure she was trying to hide a smile. So, strong and resilient, too? Oh, he was falling _hard_ for this girl. He managed to lower his volume.

“No. You look great. Just . . . different. The clothes fit ok?”

“Yes,” she answered, blushing.

“Even the . . . um . . . underwear. Which I’m kinda curious about – what do they say when all,” she gestured up and down, waving her hands, “six foot hotness of you strides up and starts buying lingerie?”

He couldn’t suppress a smile.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Come on,” she scoffed, “do you not own a mirror? You’re like, sculpted out of marble or something.”

He shook his head, and waved her over.

“I only have jam, no peanut butter, sorry.”

“Well, I’m allergic, so that’s a plus. You never told me how you got all that stuff,” she persisted, crunching her toast happily.

Though she made a face at the instant coffee, and he smirked.

“I have a friend who works in a chain store at a shopping centre. She helped me out.”

“Oh. So I’ve been using her make-up?”

He was puzzled until she waved at the bathroom, and then he understood.

“Oh, no, no. We’re not _together_ together, we just,” fuck sometimes, he thought. And winced. It wasn’t like Tatiana had any expectations of him. They went out for drinks sometimes, and because of Anatoli, he got her into the best night-clubs and restaurants. The sex was good. That was it. He realised he’d stopped halfway through a sentence, and shrugged.

“We’re friends. The make-up and stuff – it was there when I moved in. I don’t know who was here before me.”

He hated to destroy the friendly atmosphere, but he had no choice.

“And I didn’t ask. “

Her face grew shuttered, and she nodded. She put the bread down like she couldn’t swallow anymore, and took another sip of her coffee, her eyes far away.

“Meghan.”

She turned to look at him, her hands trembling around the coffee mug.

“I’d love to tell you all about myself, and find out all about you. And we could talk for hours, and get to know each other. But I can’t do any of that.”

She was nodding, her eyes sad. But when she spoke, she just sounded determined.

“I just need to tell you one thing- uh. I don’t even know your name. This sucks.”

He smiled, despite his apprehension of what she wanted to say.

“I’m not going to blame anyone else for what I did, why they wanted to kill me. I needed money, fast, and I did work for the Irish.”

She was sitting ramrod straight, looking at him fiercely. He couldn’t help a rueful half-smile.

“You’re talking to the wrong person if you expect me to judge you for getting in over your head with organized crime.”

She cocked her head to the side, looking even more adorable than before, and he had to make an effort to pull himself together, to bring his thug persona out of the box. That’s who was going to save her, not some lovesick puppy.

“Ok. This is how you’re going to get out of Moscow.”

He reached into the duffel, expecting to find the last thing he had procured, not from any shop. When she saw the headscarf, she nodded, looking puzzled.

“Yeah, I had no idea what to do with that.”

“It’s a hijab. And it’s how we’re going to get you out of Russia.”

He rummaged in the bag again, finding the underscarf. Good. He could take the photo today.

She looked puzzled.

“It’s a good disguise, but why would a Muslim woman be travelling on her own?”

“You won’t be. Ok. Here’s the thing. There’s a Turkish family here; they’re friends of mine. I mean, they became friends – it’s not important. They run a convenience store. And they’re stuck here. The Bratva keep taking all their profits as protection money, and they need to get out. They’ll be going to the US first, then joining their relatives in England. You’re going to be cousin Sertab, staying with her uncle’s family. You’ll stay together until you arrive in New York, then you’ll go your separate ways.”

Meghan looked stunned. He hoped she would stay that way, and not come to the most obvious conclusion – that he’d been planning this for a long time, long before she’d ever come to Russia.

“But what about the passports? I don’t even have a passport – Liam got us here in a private plane, and used his dad’s name and lots of bribes to get us through customs- God, how could I have been so stupid?”

She put her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes. His hand hovered over her shoulder, but he was unsure if she wanted him to touch her, at all. He pulled back. No. It was a bad idea. She raised her head and stared at him. Shit. She looked suspicious.

“This was _your_ exit plan! You’re giving this up, for me?”

He tried to laugh it off.

“Purple’s not really my colour. I don’t think I could have passed for cousin Sertab!”

She glared, and he relented.

“Yes, it was a plan. But now you need to get out of here, and you’re in greater danger than I am right now. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance of being found. And they think you’re dead. They can never find out that I didn’t kill you.”

“I still don’t understand. Why me?”

How could he explain his motivation if he wasn’t even sure of it himself? He sure as hell didn’t believe in love at first sight.

“I don’t know. I guess . . . I don’t want to be that guy. You know, the monster.”

Of course, that wouldn’t mean anything to her. He could still see Tatsu’s face as she said it. He looked down at the scarf in his hands and realised his fists were clenched onto it. His eyes widened in shock as he saw her hand cover his, hesitant at first, and then more decisive. He looked up into her eyes, warm with compassion, and wanted to look away. He didn’t deserve that, any of it. She looked like she wanted to say something, to comfort him, but he shook his head, and she nodded.

“I don’t know how to put this on,” she said quietly, looking at the scarf in his hands.

He blinked hard against the stinging in his eyes, and cleared his throat.

“I got it from Yasemin yesterday, after I bought your clothes. Yasemin and Mehmet, that’s what they’re called. Huh. You’d better memorise their names, if they’re gonna be your aunt and uncle. Anyway, they printed out some instructions on how to wear it, and which styles are most popular in Turkey.”

He laughed, remembering the conversation.

“They’re not particularly traditional, but once they settled in Russia, they realised it’s sometimes safer to pretend to be, you know, more ethnic. It’s what Mehmet calls the “forty goats for your daughter camouflage”.

She looked surprised.

“He actually used the word ‘camouflage’?”

“You’ll be surprised when you meet him. His family was really rich, when he was a kid. He went to Eton. Before he gets to know you, he goes all full Turkish. Then in mid-conversation, he sounds like he’s in some old English movie.”

“Anyway, we have to get to work.”

He found the printouts Yasemin had dug out for him, and gave them to her.

“Practice putting this on, until it looks like the pictures, then I’ll take photographs for your passport.”

She looked like she was going to thank him again, so he got up and started to make some phone calls. It was strange to speak Russian again, after hours of speaking English with Meghan. He wondered if he should contact Anatoli, or wait to be contacted. It was pretty late in the morning, and they’d probably stayed up till dawn, drinking. But he didn’t want anyone to suspect. So he sent a quick SMS to Anatoli, asking if he needed anything. He was happy not to get an answer.

“Hey.”

He turned around, and wow. She really was a quick learner. She’d used the simplest style to wrap the hijab, making sure that the underscarf covered her hairline completely, and the larger scarf wrapped around her head and neck. She still looked pretty, but somehow younger. That was good. He took some pictures of her, and they checked them together, agreeing on three which looked most like passport photos. There, that was done. Now, all he had to do was go to an ex-con he’d found, an expert forger who wanted to stay clean, and who Oliver had persuaded to help him in exchange for never telling Anatoli that he hadn’t died in prison. There, he would swap the false passport with his name on it for one with Sertab Ozul’s name, and Meghan’s picture. They’d come up with a backstory for her, and she could spend the next few days memorising it.

“What if someone speaks to me in Turkish? Then I’m screwed, right?”

He’d been wandering out the door when she asked him that question. He’d already discussed it with Mehmet and Yasemin, and they’d tried to come up with a few solutions.

“We’re going to make the passport say you’re younger than you are – a teenager. You’ve hardly spent any time in Turkey, having been here all along with your aunt and uncle. Also, you’re really really shy. You keep your eyes down, and don’t speak to anyone. You’re very conservative and traditional, and so will Mehmet be, when guarding his niece’s virtue.”

She made a disgusted face, and he almost laughed.

“You’re hiding in plain sight, Meghan. Maybe we’ll be lucky. People see what they want to see, what they expect. In this case, a shy Muslim girl.”

Driving to Mehmet’s store a few days later, he remembered his words and hoped he’d been right. He was using the van he’d stolen months ago, because Meghan was hiding in the back, and he was going to back into the garage near the store, so she could sneak into the back room without being seen. They’d said their goodbyes, and she’d tried to thank him again, but he’d brushed her off, shaking his head. He wanted her out of there, away from all of this. In front of the garage, he opened his door at the same time that the back slid open, and he sensed rather than saw Meghan jump out and dash into the back room.

As soon as he walked into the store, he exchanged a slight nod with Mehmet, who started yelling, just as they’d planned.

“ _It’s too early! I don’t have it yet! It was bad business, this month, very bad!_ ”

Oliver had to work hard not to grin – Mehmet was going full Turk on him. There were some other people in the store, but they melted away as soon as they saw Oliver.

“ _Listen, Turk, you want to say that to Anatoli? Huh?_ ”

He got in Mehmet’s face, who spluttered and protested for a bit, then opened the cash register and stuffed some bills in an envelope, and shoved them at Oliver. That bit of acting done, Oliver stalked out, winking at an old lady who glared at him, muttering something in Russian about vicious thugs. He went to a nearby cafe, and lingered there for an hour, until it was time. When he’d planned their escape, they’d told him about kurban bayramı, a Muslim holiday that lasted four and a half days, and which would be perfect to buy time. They’d honoured this holiday for all the time they’d been in Moscow, so people in the neighbourhood were used to the shop being closed for the celebration.

Right now, Mehmet would just be finishing his annual performance of closing up early, for “very big feast”, as he put it in his broken Russian, “time of sacrifice!” Which was . . . somehow right, Oliver thought. He’d had to argue to convince them to take Meghan instead of him, even though it would be much easier to smuggle a veiled young woman out of the country than him. They didn’t want him to stay and face the music, but why would Anatoli think he was involved, anyway? But Mehmet wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Yasemin got up and started banging around in the kitchen. He wanted to reassure them, that he knew he was changing the plan, which was bad – but he needed to get Meghan out. He couldn’t explain why.

Oliver went back to the store, glad to see it was closed and shuttered, with a sign outside, in Cyrillic, saying that the store would be closed for the next four days. The van was where he’d left it, and when he got in, he snuck a look at the back, where Mehmet, Yasemin, and their two daughters were sitting on some suitcases. And Meghan, who was wearing the hijab and a long coat – the cold weather was on their side. He and Mehmet exchanged nods, and Oliver drove towards the airport. Once they’d all got out, and started walking towards the terminal, he allowed himself a lingering look at Meghan. She didn’t turn around. He bit his lip, and drove off towards a vacant lot. He unscrewed the number plates and shoved them in his bag, then got out a container of gasoline, soaking the inside and outside of the van as best he could, without getting any on him. He had a cheap lighter on him, and ignited a puddle, watching, fascinated, as the flames raced towards the van.

He took a bus back to the Metro stop, and went back to his apartment for his car, and then straight to the club, to meet Anatoli. He thought about what they would be doing now – checking in, trying to look as innocent as possible. He remembered what the plan had been for his own clean getaway – he’d been bribing morgue attendants for a while, as well as learning how to build a bomb. One John Doe in his car, bomb connected to the ignition, and boom. But he didn’t need all that, now. And maybe he didn’t deserve to get away that easily. But the Ozuls did. They’d be in England before the Bratva would even think of looking for them, and Meghan would be . . . somewhere else. He’d given her some advice about where to settle, but really, as long as no one in the Irish mob or the Bratva knew her real name, she’d be safe. He hoped. Maybe if he waited a few months, and asked Anatoli for an out . . . maybe everything could still turn out ok. And he could go home.

For the next week, he clung to that hope, and managed to push thoughts of the Ozuls and Meghan completely out of his mind, while playing the obedient Bratva captain with Anatoli. But when he went on a routine job with Sasha and Alexei, and woke up on the floor of the warehouse where he’d first seen Meghan, he realised it wasn’t going to be that simple. At a nod from Anatoli, they grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him onto the chair. The irony of his situation was inescapable. His head was still fuzzy, so it took him a few seconds to register what Anatoli was saying. The Ozuls had vanished. That was all Anatoli was interested in. No mention of Meghan, at all. Anatoli was still talking, and Oliver tried to pay attention.

“You were the last to make contact with Mehmet Ozul, Oliver. What have you done?”

“You knew what I did – I got the money and gave it to you! I don’t know anything else. And anyway, that’s what this is about? Some shopkeeper goes on the lam, and the Bratva loses it?”

Anatoli sighed.

“You think we care about the few rubles you got from him every month? Use your head, Oliver. The little, what do you call it, mom and pop store, was perfect for money laundering. Which was its real purpose, all along. Mehmet did this for us for five years.”

Oliver must have shown something in his face, even though he was trying to hide his emotions. Anatoli shook his head.

“So, Mehmet never told you. What do you think of your friend now?”

“I think that he had a family, wife, children, he wanted to keep safe. What, do you think I’m so stupid I believe Mehmet worked for you guys because he liked it? Who did you threaten him with, Yasemin?”

Anatoli didn’t react.

“The girls?”

Oliver couldn’t believe it.

“That’s sick, Anatoli! They’re just little kids!”

Anatoli shrugged.

“Business is business, Oliver. And besides, as long as he did our work, he had nothing to fear.”

He sighed.

“Where are they, Oliver? I don’t want to make this painful for you.”

He signed to Sasha who walked up to Oliver, with an anticipatory grin on his face.

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew, which I don’t. What, you think Sasha here roughing me up is going to persuade me? You think you can do better than Slade Wilson, than ARGUS? Go ahead.”

He crossed his arms defiantly, glad of the look of doubt on Anatoli’s face. Because Oliver himself wasn’t so sure he’d hold up. Neither Slade nor Waller had ever threatened to cut his cock off and feed it to him, which he’d witnessed Sasha doing many times. The threat, that is – he’d never actually gone through with it. Anatoli held Oliver’s gaze for a few seconds, and then shook his head. He muttered something in Sasha’s ear, who looked disappointed, and the last thing Oliver saw was Sasha’s fist heading for his face.

Oliver swam towards consciousness – sleep kept trying to drag him back down, but he had to wake up. Mehmet was waiting for him to come with the van- no, he’d done that already. He opened his eyes, and tried to work out where he was; he was lying on a metal surface, and it was moving. Where the hell was he now? He thought truck at first, until the ground under him shuddered violently, and he realised he was in a plane – some kind of cargo plane. He could hear voices above his head, speaking in Russian, and tried to move his arms. He wasn’t tied up, and at first he thought he had some kind of backpack strapped to him. Looking down at this chest, he realized he was wearing a parachute. What the fuck? Anatoli interrupted his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Oliver, but you gave me no choice.”

He pulled Oliver to his feet, and pushed him to the back of the plane, where the ramp was starting to open.

“Be thankful you have a parachute!”

Anatoli had to yell above the rushing noise of the wind.

“They wanted me to kill you! This is the only way!”

Anatoli held onto the webbing while he gestured at Oliver with the gun.

“Wait three seconds and pull the cord!”

Anatoli’s last words were whipped away by the wind, but Oliver thought he heard ‘forgive me’. He took a deep breath and jumped. The wind and salt in his eyes distracted him from trying to get his bearings, and he was too busy pulling at the cord to try to look around him. But as the parachute filled and he floated down towards land (he hoped), he had a terrible realisation as the clouds cleared and the constellations became visible. And horribly familiar. It couldn’t be. Anatoli couldn’t have done this to him. He braced himself for a landing, but was jerked to a halt with a rustle of leaves, realising that the chute had gotten stuck in a tree. The sky was lightening around him, and his surroundings became more familiar with every second. When the sun had risen completely, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He was back on Lian Yu.

He needed to keep it together, he needed to keep calm, he needed to stop yelling and cursing the sky. But he couldn’t. Why had he even tried to get away? Was it his destiny to stay here forever, until he died of starvation? He looked at the knife he had hidden in his boot, and which he didn’t even remember taking out. He should just cut his own throat right now. Instead, after staring at the knife for a few seconds, he swung towards the main trunk, and then cut himself loose. He looked around him, trying to get his bearings. This wasn’t a part of the forest he’d spent much time in before, so he still had to be careful of landmines. Though maybe stepping on one would be quicker than a slow death on this island.

He tried to climb down carefully, but the bark was covered in moss and he slid down, landing hard on his side. He lay there for a few minutes, willing himself to get up and start moving. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.

It took him over an hour to get to the remains of Fyers’ camp, and once he got there he realized it was for nothing. Whatever hadn’t been destroyed by the missile launcher had been looted by Ivo’s people. He wanted to scream his frustration, but decided to get some sleep instead, and just lay down in the remains of one of the tents.

On the second day he found his way back to the crashed plane which he’d lived in with Shado and Slade. There were a few things left there too, but no food or water. And he was getting seriously dehydrated. He found the way back to the lake, and collected some water to boil. He was sure there was something metal in the plane he could use, and he needed water, unless he was just going to lay down and die. And he wasn’t there yet.

On the fourth day he decided he _was_ there, and walked down to the beach, determined to walk into the sea and just let go. He took off his jacket and shirt, and when he threw them down, something fell out of the jacket. He bent down, and picked up his father’s notebook, which he’d found it in the cargo plane, in Yao Fei’s trunk. He was just about to throw it into the sea, when movement at the corner of his eye made him spin so suddenly he overbalanced and fell on his ass. It was his father. The look of disappointment on his face was all too familiar.

“Yeah, yeah, dad. I _know_! Right my wrongs! Well guess what, dad! I can’t, and I never could!”

His father just shook his head, looking sad. "Oh, Oliver. You never even tried." 

The harsh cry of a seagull made him jump and look over his shoulder, and when he turned back, his father was gone. Of course he was hallucinating. He was dehydrated and starving. He grabbed his jacket and shirt, and put them on again, shoving the notebook in his pocket. He’d try to hunt again. Anyway, what had he been thinking? Drowning was a horrible way to go. He’d find something quicker the day he really gave up.

On the sixth day Oliver found the entrance to Yao Fei’s cave. He went in curiously, remembering the last time he’d been there, to get herbs for Slade. Everything was as he remembered it – and there were things he’d forgotten, like tattered clothes, knives, the cage Yao Fei’d put the partridge in. Even extra arrows. He sat down heavily, and started to think, for the first time in almost a week. Till then he’d been refusing to consider the reality of his situation, convinced that he was going to kill himself. But he didn’t really want to die. He wanted to go home. And he’d survived here before. But you weren’t alone, his inner voice reminded him. No, I wasn’t, he thought. And there’s nothing I can do about that. But he could try to survive until he was found, and he _would_ be found. Now that the mercenaries were gone, and no-one was diverting curious visitors from the island, it was more likely that someone would stumble on it. He’d use the cave to sleep in – it was much more sheltered from the elements than the plane. He’d get fit again, after a year living soft. Maybe he could get up to speed with Yao Fei’s bow. He imagined Shado shaking her head in despair at the number of times he’d missed when he tried to hunt.

So, that was the plan. Oliver curled up on the blanket he’d found in the cave and tried to go to sleep. Being on the island again was bringing back so many memories, so many things he thought he’d forgotten, that he’d wanted to forget. But one of them wasn’t unpleasant. A smile touched his lips as he remembered when Yao Fei had tried to teach him something, and how long it had taken for him to learn. You win, old man. Shengcún. Survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the idea for this story has been bugging me for a while, and I finally got down to writing it.
> 
> My inspiration is that damn Bratva tattoo, and the real world knowledge that the Bratva? Not nice people. Also, this Felicity's (Meghan in this chapter) backstory is different than the show's. And this is kind of the opposite to a meet-cute. Sorry.
> 
> Everything about Felicity's choices will be made clearer in the next chapter, if anyone's still reading by then!
> 
> Kurban Bayramı is the Turkish name for Eid al-Adha, which is the second of two religious holidays celebrated by Muslims worldwide each year (the first being Eid al-Fitr, the end of Ramadan). The feast is called the Feast of Sacrifice, as it honours the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his son, Ismail, in submission to God's command.
> 
> The title is from 'The Road Not Taken', by Robert Frost.
> 
> The wonderful Anita on [arrow fanfiction reviews](http://arrowfanfictionreviews.tumblr.com/) has kindly and amazingly reviewed Chapter 1. If you like reviews with lots of gifs, go and tell her how awesome she is!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity needs to get home, and find a new one. It isn't that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just would like to thank my readers for all the wonderful comments and equally appreciated kudos! 
> 
> Also, there's an added tag, and the end notes contain spoilers.

_Felicity stands at the grave long after the rabbi leaves. She should go to the apartment to sit shiva, but there’s no-one to sit with her. And she has to go back to Boston tomorrow. She’s at her mom’s apartment without any conscious memory of driving there, but the door opens onto a run-down warehouse, with shadowy corners and pools of dark water everywhere. People are yelling at her in Russian and she knows that the man who’s walking up to her is going to kill her. His arm slides around her neck like a snake, and she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, she-_

She woke up, and for a few seconds had no idea where she was. The atmosphere of recycled air and a disembodied hum was suffocating until she realized she was on the plane, the plan had worked, she was almost clear. Felicity looked around her, blushing, hoping she hadn’t made a sound. But Yasemin was still reading and the girls were playing on their ipad. Mehmet was sitting across the aisle, pretending to write in a notebook, but really staring into space.

The whole situation was bizarre. Even more so if any of her new friends found out that she was Jewish, something she hadn’t even told . . . the guy. She didn’t know what to call him. When he’d first walked into the warehouse she’d known he was there to kill her, and she still thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She remembered being almost glad he’d left the tape over her mouth, because she didn’t want her last words to be pleas for mercy. Except she didn’t die, though that didn’t seem like such a good thing, at the time. Waking up in the trunk of his car had been the second worst moment of her life (hearing the word ‘metastasised’ was still in first place), because no matter how good-looking this guy was, he’d obviously saved her for something. She couldn’t believe it would be something good.

Except it was. He’d fed her, and bought her clothes, and arranged for her escape. And she still didn’t know why. They’d hardly spoken in the two days it had taken him to get her a fake passport, except when he’d given her instructions on what to do once she landed at LaGuardia.

“Go to a bathroom. Make sure there’s no one there, then take off the scarf and change the coat. Don’t throw anything away at the airport – wait until you’re far away. Maybe even in another state. Keep the passport until you can destroy it, like in a fire.”

He’d been cleaning his gun as he was saying all this, and she was fascinated by his hands as they skilfully took it apart and oiled it, before putting it back together. He’d looked up and met her eyes and she’d opened her mouth to again ask him his name, or at least a fake name she could call him. But she didn’t ask. He obviously didn’t want to talk about himself. Or even about her.

She felt like she wanted to justify herself to him, to explain why she’d ended up with the Russian mob wanting her dead, though that last detail was still unclear to her. She hadn’t even started the work Liam had wanted her to do. And how’d the Russians known exactly where to find them?

She tried to remember the last happy moment of her life, the last time she’d really been Felicity. When she’d graduated, that was it. And even then, the moment only lasted until she’d seen her mom close up, and realised that there was something seriously wrong with her. After that, her life became a sped up rollercoaster. Diagnosis, treatment, no insurance. Cooper had found her huddled up on the floor of her room, crying, and when he heard the reason, had mentioned a friend who needed some work done. On the down low. He’d actually said that out loud. And in her panicked state, she’d actually listened to him, instead of going to a bank to ask for a loan, like a normal human being. She had to stop yelling at herself, she thought. It wasn’t productive. Of course she’d known it was illegal. She just hadn’t known _how_ illegal. When it became obvious to her that all the Irish pubs she met Cooper’s friend at weren’t just coincidence, it was too late to get out. All the money she earned went directly to her mother’s hospital bills, and eventually, her funeral. She remembered making her mother a promise at the graveside – I’m out, mom. I’ll talk to Liam tomorrow, and I’m out.

Except Liam had begged her to go on one last job, in Moscow. He’d wanted to impress his father, he said, and thinking about it later, she was sure she’d once mentioned that her father had walked out on them. That’s how they get you, she thought – with the shared daddy issues. She’d only ever seen Liam’s father, the big boss, once, when he’d spent five minutes yelling at his son and calling him a pansy-ass idiot. She’d shrunk into her corner of the booth, trying to make herself invisible, but she was pretty sure he saw her. She shuddered at the memory. Now she knew what the Eye of Sauron felt like.

The truth dawned on her slowly, as that moment repeated in her head. Maybe being choked out cleared the mind, or something. It was never the Russians who’d wanted her dead. She was a liability to the Irish, because she knew things about their organization, and she thought she could just walk away. And Liam’s dad was tired of his son’s fuck-ups and wanted to teach him a lesson. So he reached out to the Russians and asked for a favour, in return for warning them that she was messing with their financial network. Because she was sure that if they’d really been mad at Liam, they’d have killed them both. She wasted a few seconds feeling enraged at Liam’s dad, then rolled her eyes at herself. What did you expect, Felicity? You got in with the _Irish mob_. Did you think you could just walk away? If it hadn’t been for _him_ , she’d be in a shallow grave right now.

There she was, again mooning over a killer. What was wrong with her? Sure, he’d saved her life, and sure he had abs of steel and blue eyes that you could get lost in . . . what had she been thinking about, again? Oh, yes. Hit man. Right. She could hear her mom’s voice so clearly, saying ‘You got a little drool on you, honey’. She blinked hard, and willed the tears back. No, a strange American who’d risen to the rank of Captain in the Solntsevskaya Bratva was not an appropriate crush object. Down, libido! Not the right time, or place, or even person. She wondered if she would ever see him again, and if she even wanted to.

The pilot’s voice dragged her away from her thoughts as he announced that they would soon be landing at LaGuardia airport. He said something about the local time and weather, but she’d stopped listening, worried about going through passport control.

There was a long line of non-U.S. citizens waiting to get their passports stamped, and her terror grew as the people in front of her decreased. Yasemin seemed to sense something (it must be a secret mom power, Felicity thought later), and linked arms with her, rattling off a whole speech in Turkish. They’d discussed this, in the van to the airport, and Felicity followed their instructions – nodding from time to time, and occasionally saying one of two phrases of Turkish she now knew: ‘yes, aunt’, and ‘yes, uncle’. The two little girls also had their parts to play – they were playing loudly and actively drawing attention, and being generally adorable. Felicity could only admire their sneaky little girl powers, as she finally succeeded in getting her breathing under control, just as Mehmet reached the front of the line. He went through quickly, and Yasemin and the girls were next, and all too soon it was her turn.

She tried to keep her eyes down, as Yasemin had instructed, but still, she felt her disguise was so obvious, any minute now someone would unmask her as a fraud, with a point and scream like Donald Sutherland in that creepy Body Snatchers movie. She answered the officer’s questions with one word answers, like ‘uncle’, ‘aunt’, and ‘holiday’ – her mystery saviour had recorded Yasemin saying these words, and Felicity tried her best to copy the very slight accent she’d heard. And then she was through. She could hardly believe it, and followed the Ozuls on autopilot. Mehmet went to one restroom, she and the others went to the ladies room, which was deserted, and Felicity wanted to weep and thank God, but it was too early for that. They dashed into cubicles and Felicity finished first, as she only needed to remove the hijab, fluff up her hair, and exchange the long tunic coat for a puffy, brightly coloured jacket. They’d decided that whoever finished first would leave first, and Felicity was ready, having quickly applied some garish looking make-up, very different from shy Sertab’s understated look. She whispered one last ‘thank you’ in Yasemin’s direction, and left the restroom.

Felicity wanted to get out of the airport as soon as possible, and hailed a cab to a mid-range hotel mystery guy had told her about. At first she’d imagined herself staying at a run-down motel, like in the movies, except Hot Guy (she had to call him something) had said it was a bad idea, saying that it would just draw attention to her. He’d even given her money, or rather, had given it to the Ozuls to sew into her coat. During the cab ride, she quickly tore at the lining and peeled off a few bills for the cab driver, making sure she tipped generously. Nothing drew attention like a bad tipper.

She checked in and went up to her room and collapsed on the bed, feeling like a weight had been removed off her chest. Now she had some time, she could look into the coat lining more carefully, and she could hardly believe it. She counted again and again, and it still came up to five thousand dollars. Even though it seemed like a lot of money, she knew it wouldn’t last very long. So, she had to get moving quickly. But she could rest for one night, couldn’t she?

When she woke up, it was morning, and she got dressed quickly. Breakfast was part of her room deal, but she didn’t have the patience to eat more than a bagel – oh, and coffee, of course. She inhaled two cups before she felt human again.

She found a hair salon which seemed busy enough to be popular, and when she came out again, her hair was blond and straight, and she only waited until she was out of sight of the salon to pull it back into a pony tail. Next was glasses, but after thinking about it, she realised she didn’t want to wait the few days it would take to fill a prescription. And she also didn’t want to leave behind the kind of paper trail involved in _getting_ a prescription. Especially as she had a prescription at her mother’s apartment. Good thing she’d kept the key on her. She looked at it, remembering putting it in one of her socks before she got on Liam’s plane. So when the Russians had dragged them away, it wasn’t lost, unlike her smartphone and tablet.

She had a sudden flash of herself taking her clothes off in a strange bathroom in Moscow, and debating what to do with the key. He’d said she needed to get rid of everything (and at the time, the only way to stop herself from screaming was to wipe her mind blank and concentrate on doing one thing at a time), but on the million-to-one chance that she’d ever see Vegas again, she needed the key. She’d looked in the bathroom cabinet and spotted a small tub of make-up remover wipes, half empty. Just the right size. Thinking about it now, the memory was surreal, like it had happened years ago, and to someone else. She’d been wondering if that was her life now, to be some mob guy’s gun moll (so her mobster vocab was slightly dated, she thought) or was she fooling herself, and he was just going to . . . sell her. But it hadn’t ended up like that, at all.

She was still lost in thought when her eyes started closing, and she decided to take a nap. Just ten minutes, and then I’ll go and have dinner, she thought.

When she woke up, it was pitch dark in the room, and the tv told her it was 5 am. Great. Brilliant, Felicity. She needed to get moving, so she put the coat in the small carry-on she still had from Russia, and checked out of the hotel, having prepared a story of lost credit cards to make up for paying in cash. She was nervous about having so much cash on her, but it couldn’t be helped, so she’d carefully opened the lining of her puffy jacket, and put most of it in there. Next she bought a messenger bag which she could hang across her body, and went to a diner for a coffee, visiting the bathroom to put some spending money in a wallet – she didn’t feel like having to rummage in the lining of her jacket every time she needed some cash. Good thing she’d left all her credit and debit cards in Vegas – everything was waiting for her there. Now she just had to cross the entire country to get to them. She left the long coat and the carry-on in the bathroom, next to a small garbage bin, making sure to open the bag completely – she didn’t want to cause a bomb scare.

She’d made an initial plan, that morning – a way of reducing the trail, as much as she could nowadays. She’d take a train to Miami, and from there she could fly to Vegas. The train ride would be overnight, and it would give her time to finally decide where she was going from there. She only hoped they’d let her buy a plane ticket using cash, especially as she had no form of I.D. on her. Maybe she should practice crying over her lost credit cards, though then someone might wonder where all the cash came from. She’d cross that bridge in due time, she told herself sternly. So she went to Penn Station and bought a ticket, and after five minutes of arguing with herself, found a BestBuy and bought a prepaid smartphone. It wasn’t a luxury, she thought. She was going literally cross country – she at least needed a working phone.

Felicity had booked a sleeper car so she could at least lock the door and retreat from the world, and spent most of the trip sleeping, emerging only for dinner. The whole Russia fiasco had taken more out of her than she’d thought. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the desk at Miami airport, preparing to burst into sobs at a second’s notice. But no-one batted an eyelash at her two hundred dollars, and before long, she was in another plane. When she trudged up to her mother’s apartment block, many hours later, she felt like she’d been traveling forever, and desperately wanted to sleep for a week. But she knew she couldn’t, because she’d decided on where she was settling, and she wasn’t taking another plane. She’d started getting nervous on the five hour flight to Vegas – what if she’d been flagged on the security cameras? She was sure she’d seen that in a movie, once. So even though nothing had happened, she was still tense about getting on another plane in the near future.

Lying on the couch, she opened the map she’d bought at Penn Station, and studied it for what must have been the millionth time that week. She knew it was irrational, but she wanted to get far away from Boston. And she was. Still, she was tired of living in the desert. She supposed she could try her luck in Silicon Valley, but then her paranoia started kicking in – if someone started looking for her, wouldn’t that be the first place they looked? She’d gotten frustrated somewhere on the train to Miami, and had closed her eyes, and dropped a finger on the map. It had landed in Seattle, and without even thinking about it, Felicity thought shook her head. He’d said, nowhere famous. But then she started looking at the smaller cities in the vicinity, and was intrigued. They kind of had their own little world, with their own celebrities and culture, so to speak. Coast City, Central City, or Starling City? The first two sounded pretty generic – couldn’t they think of a name? While the last – she liked the idea of a city named after a bird, and decided it was a good omen, and just like that, made up her mind. And groaned, because she definitely wasn’t flying, and the Greyhound would take a couple of days. Unless . . . she went online, and after about half an hour, found the best solution – bus to L.A., and train to Starling City. There.

She felt as exhausted as if she’d just finished a ten-mile hike. But she still had to clear out the apartment. Although, when she’d come in, it had looked emptier than usual. She hadn’t really paid attention after the funeral, but now she had more time, and she realised that it was really empty. Anything personal was gone, and for a second she was enraged that the landlord must have emptied it out as soon as she’d left for Boston. She stormed into her mother’s bedroom, looking for his phone number, ready to chew him out, when she spotted an envelope with her name on it on the bedside table.

As she sat down on the bed, she hesitated before opening it. She turned the envelope over in her hands, almost scared of what it would contain. Then she called herself an idiot, and carefully looked inside. There were a few papers in it, but at the top was a letter in her mother’s handwriting.

_Dear Felicity,  
_

_By the time you read this, I'll be gone. That sounds like one of those movies you hate, right? I’m sorry honey, but I know I’m not coming back from the hospital this time. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. I’m so sorry that you’ll be on your own, but you’re my little genius, and I know you’ll be fine._

_I cleared out all my furniture, all my tchotchkes (hope that’s spelled right!) – anything you might want to keep. They’re in a storage unit. All the paperwork is in the envelope, and it’s paid up for a year, so you can decide what you want to do with all that stuff._

_I closed my bank accounts and transferred everything to yours – not that there was much left there, anyway. I canceled my credit cards too, you don’t need to worry about that._

_I thought there would be more to write, but I guess there isn’t. I could write the same words over and over again, how much I love you, how having you was the best thing that ever happened to me, and how I’m so proud of you._

_You need to be strong and live your life. Most of all, I want you to be happy. Goodbye, sweetie._

_Love, Mom_

Felicity could hardly read the last lines through her tears, and once she started sobbing, she couldn’t stop. She could only think of how badly she’d let her mom down, how dumb she’d been, and vowed never to be so stupid again. She’d leave for Starling City in the morning.

~

Her phone alarm dragged her out of a deep sleep, and she reached blindly for her glasses. It was 6:30 – time to get ready for work. She’d been in Starling for a month, and was gradually starting to get used to it. She’d had a couple of bad nights, what with nightmares about the warehouse and the funeral. Although some of the dreams hadn’t been too bad, she thought with a blush. Mystery Bratva guy featured in those, and she always woke up before they really got good. Though her memories of him were fading, and she was making an effort to put him out of her head. That was another life. Before leaving Las Vegas, she’d taken everything that she gotten from Moscow, and had left it in the garbage in an airport restroom. She still had the Turkish passport though – she’d sewn it into a coat she’d found at a thrift store, and hung it in her closet. Very purloined letter, she’d thought. It was all very well for mystery guy to say she had to destroy it, but where was she supposed to find a furnace? It would keep, until she found a way.

She stopped at a coffee shop to get her usual breakfast to go – the largest and blackest of coffees and a plain bagel – and walked to Tech Village. It was the first place she’d found that was hiring, besides Big Belly Burger, and the money wasn’t great, but she needed to pay her rent. She’d leased a small apartment, and was surprised about how low the rent was compared to Vegas. And she was looking for a new job. Once the panicked rush away from Moscow was over, she realized she needed much more than an entry-level retail job to keep her entertained. Sure, there was some tech support involved, but she really wanted to get into IT at a larger corporation. Like Queen Consolidated, for example. The IT department was ok there – but much more interesting was Applied Sciences, which was working on some really cutting edge tech. And maybe the IT department could be a stepping stone to where she really wanted to be.

She hadn’t really made friends at her work – no-one seemed to want to be there. And ok, she wanted to move on too, but she could still be friendly. The guys there either called her Tech Support Barbie or were constantly hitting on her, and she was feeling a little too fragile to start dating just yet. She did sign up for a yoga class – the way she’d been eating lately meant that she needed to get some exercise, and she hated running. The bonus was that she got a hint of a social life, as they occasionally went out on girls’ nights.

Two months later, she was sitting nervously in the foyer at Queen Consolidated, waiting for her interview. Or interviews, rather. She’d been warned that it was a whole day process, but by the fifth interview, she was starting to flag. There was one awkward moment when the CEO, a polished lady called Moira Queen, asked her about the gap between her graduation and now, what she’d been up to workwise. But Felicity had expected that question, had looked online for good answers which didn’t involve lying through her teeth, and had spoken, as positively as she could, about illness in the family which was now over.

Walking away from the glass and stone monolith, she felt she could finally breathe. She’d decided to wear a suit for the interview, and felt stifled – and slightly disappointed. She hadn’t had a great feeling about the interview, and wasn’t even sure she still wanted the job. But the money was so much better than what she was earning right now. And she was so bored at Tech Village. So she was surprised to get the phone call saying she was in, followed by an email, and a request to come in and sign some paperwork.

Felicity celebrated by going on a frugal shopping spree, also known as hitting the sales. She’d decided on a complete overhaul of her appearance after Russia, and stocked up on cute skirts and heels – just because she was the tech support, she didn’t have to wear a jumpsuit. And anyone looking for a sullen Goth in DMs would look elsewhere.

The IT department consisted of about half a dozen people, less than she thought was necessary for a company the size of Queen Consolidated. And at first she enjoyed it a lot, especially when she was given some back-end programming work which was far more challenging than the run of the mill email problems, password problems and disk-wiping she usually had to do. It became less enjoyable when her supervisor took credit for it, though the CFO, a Walter Steele, had given her a wink the last time he came down to discuss it. She was pretty sure he knew what she was capable of, so she was prepared to stick out working at QC for a little longer. Even though she was bored. Again. After a few months there, it had become clear that Applied Sciences never recruited from within. It would have been a better idea to start with another company, and wait for an opening in the department. And her asshole supervisor insisted that she went through all the disks she was asked to wipe, and all the porn was started to get to her. Nothing illegal, but still. How much porn could one person watch? A lot, she started to realise. But she knew she needed to stick it out for at least a year – what with the gap between graduating and starting at QC, she’d definitely look like a flake if she left after a few months.

It’s weird, she thought. Last November she’d spent a week thinking she was going to die, and worrying about leaving a paper trail for Mafia hit men. Now she was back to the usual life worries – where’s my career going? Will I ever find love? All this, while dealing with losing her mom.

She’d tried to convince herself that her mother’s death hadn’t been a shock when it happened, that she’d known sitting in the doctor’s office, looking at the PET scan light up like an old-fashioned switchboard. But she hadn’t been prepared for the sneaky nature of grief, how it got you when you weren’t looking, when you thought you were ok. Like a month after she started at QC, when she saw a TMZ report about George Clooney in Vegas, and immediately decided to phone her mom and ask her if she’d started moonlighting with the paps. She’d already started punching in the number, when her eyes fell on the photo of the both of them which was on her desk, and she gripped her phone so hard she cracked the screen. Her supervisor had taken one look at her face and ordered her to take a break – he didn’t get any points for that, she thought bitterly, as she sat in the break room, staring into space. Mediocre, seat-warming asshole just didn’t want to have to ask her what was wrong, or offer to help. And she wasn’t going to cry at work.

The memories of the mystery man who’d helped her had grown more and more fuzzy as the months passed. She started to think she’d embellished his looks – no man could be that handsome in real life. And the way she’d felt about him: classic Stockholm Syndrome.

She worked, she took classes, she made acquaintances, she went on a couple of dates with guys from other departments, she scoured the wanted ads for jobs at Star Labs, at Merlyn Incorporated. And so time passed. And before she knew it, she looked at her online calendar and realized that soon it would be a year since her mother, since Russia. Work had gotten more exciting, in the sense that the Queen family, which had always been a trainwreck, was once again in the spotlight. She’d done her research before applying for the job, and so knew of the tragedy surrounding the Queens – father and son lost at sea. And she’d tried to surreptitiously study Moira Queen, but her façade was impenetrable. She soon found out that Moira and the CFO were married, which only increased her admiration for Walter Steele. The lady was scary. So she knew all about the drama – and then it got more dramatic.

“ _Oliver Queen found!_ ”, the headlines blared one September morning, and Felicity read the articles with some fascination. Everyone in the company was going nuts, and the women’s restrooms started to fill up with the entire office pool, it seemed, doing their make-up and hair, on the off chance that Oliver Queen would choose that day to tour the company. The entire IT department spent a whole week watching every single piece of footage ever filmed of the Queens, especially Oliver, and so Felicity was almost glad when an infestation of ants (when would people learn not to keep open food containers in their desks?) caused the whole department to be fumigated, and they were all split up into small rooms scattered all over the company. She suspected hers had started out as a broom closet. But there was light there now, and a desk, and a computer. And she had her tablet, and that was all she needed. Especially as she _really_ wasn’t interested in the Queen family drama, which was getting more Shakespearean by the day. She hadn’t even bothered to watch all the youtube videos (and there were many), of Oliver Queen in his heyday. They were sometimes inescapable, though, and in one of them she’d caught the tail-end of a paparazzo trying to get a soundbite, and a voice which sounded vaguely familiar, giving it to him. The thought nagged at her all day. She’d heard that voice before. But where? But then Ant Apocalypse 2012 had started, and she was too busy with relocating to worry about it anymore. They’d have to stay out of the IT department for a few days, to let the fumes clear, and management had told them they were using the opportunity to redecorate and combine it with the server room. Which was good, Felicity thought, because as the last one in, she was usually sent on the trek towards the servers when anything went wrong – it would be great to have them near.

Obviously she didn’t have her name on the door, though. Someone might think she deserved an office, she thought sourly. Instead, maintenance had stuck a paper label on the door, which said _I.T. – temp_ , giving completely the wrong message, in her opinion. So she was surprised when there was a knock, and the door opened.

“Felicity Smoak?”

The memories hit like a tsunami, and her stomach threatened to revolt. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t. Her chair came to life and turned to face him, because it sure wasn’t her doing that. She stared up into his face. It _was_ him. The hair was different, his face seemed more open, and he was dressed in the style her mom had called ‘rich-guy casual’ rather than the Russian mobster suit he’d had on, but it was unmistakeably him. He knew her real name, and he’d come to finish the job. She stared at him for a few seconds, frozen, until she saw the recognition dawn on his face.

“Meghan?”

He sounded like he couldn’t believe his eyes, but he was faking it, he must be. She’d planned for this, had expected someone to find her, and she used whatever leeway he was giving her, and grabbed for the gun which she’d velcroed to the underside of her desk. She’d been anti-gun, but that was in another life, before she’d been choked out and had woken up in the trunk of a car. So it had been one of her first purchases in Starling, and she’d had some very tense moments smuggling it into QC once she started working there. She pulled it out of the holster, and was gratified to see his eyes widen as he saw it – he wouldn’t have been so scared if he’d read her mind, and realised she’d completely forgotten how to use it.

“Wait! Meghan! I’m not-“

“Stop pretending you don’t know my name!”

Felicity realised she’d screamed the words at him, and hoped that no one was passing by her door right then. The gun was unexpectedly heavy in her hand, and certain things were starting to dawn on her. First, she’d heard that voice more recently than a year ago. Second, he was holding a laptop in his hands, not a gun. Third, he was Oliver Queen. Oh, shit. She was holding a gun on Oliver Queen in his mother’s company, and she was beyond fired. And dead. Maybe. She dropped the gun on her desk. It landed heavily, and she jumped at the sound, glad she’d left the safety on. She wanted to run and hide, and got up, but there was nowhere to go. He was blocking her exit. She ended up retreating to a corner of the room, and collapsed in a crouch, putting her head in her hands. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, and wasn’t sure if it was a flashback to Moscow, or a panic attack.

He settled next to her and put a hand on her shoulder, gentling her like he would a frightened horse, and she bristled. She wasn’t his pet. She jerked her shoulder out from under his hand and glared at him.

“I always wondered what I could call you. Never thought it would be ‘Mr Queen’.”

He gave a half smile, which looked much more relaxed than he’d ever been in Moscow.

“No,” he said, stretching out the word. “Mr Queen was my father.”

He kept up his relaxed expression all the way through her nonsensical babble in which she couldn’t believe she actually referenced his dad’s death by drowning, and she groaned and put her head in her hands again.

“Meg- Felicity . . . are you ok?”

“Shut up! Just stop talking, ok? Yes, I know I’m the one doing most of the talking right now, and making very little sense – why can’t I _stop_? Shutting up right now . . . I mean, I’m fine. I just need to think.”

He nodded and leaned back against the wall. She looked at him under her lashes, wondering if her hint hadn’t been heavy enough. She needed to think on her own, without the major distraction that his presence was, but he showed no intention of leaving. Of course, why should _he_ leave? It was technically his company.

Oh Felicity, she heard her mother’s voice saying. What have you gotten yourself into this time? Good question, mom. I wish I knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I killed Donna. Sorry.
> 
> Also, when I was planning this, I never realised what a pain in the ass it is to get from one side of the US to the other if you'd like to stay as anonymous as possible. You live, you learn.
> 
> The next is difficult for me to write, but here goes. If you're not enjoying the story, don't feel compelled to challenge me on its aspects. I'm not going to defend my reasoning behind every single character choice or plot device. It's ok to disagree with or dislike something I wrote, but I really don't need to talk about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments and kudos - much appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> The end note contains spoilers for the chapter.

Oliver couldn’t get over how different she looked. Nothing was familiar – blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, glasses, red lips. It was only when he looked deep into shocked blue eyes that he remembered where he’d first seen them.

Pulling a gun on him was pretty surprising too – it probably would have been his last surprise, if she’d remembered to put the safety off.

Felicity Smoak. That was her real name. He wondered where ‘Meghan’ had come from. Not that it mattered. He noticed she was sneaking little glances at him as they sat on the floor of her- well, it wasn’t an office. Repurposed broom closet, surely. He pretended not to see her sneaky looks, and wondered what she’d do next. And how he was going to get out of this – there was no way she was going to buy his ‘spilled a latte on the laptop’ story now.

Oliver’d been back from the island for a month, and things had been going according to plan, up till now. He’d even found a partner for his crusade, which he’d never planned for, back on the island. He’d gotten through an arrest and a polygraph with few consequences, though Lance still hated his guts. That wasn’t going to change, no matter how many polygraph tests Oliver passed. He thought about Laurel for a second – that was over, he knew that now. He didn’t need to hear Thea’s drunken confession, or catch Tommy’s yearning looks in that direction to know that. It had been over ever since he’d sabotaged it by smuggling Sara on the yacht.

Felicity got up, abruptly, and dusted herself off with quick sharp movements. He joined her, and waited for his cue. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes, and instead looked at the desk, where he’d left the bullet-ridden laptop. Her eyes narrowed.

“What the hell is this? You promised!”

She glared at him, and grabbed his sweater, pulling it down a little. As soon as she saw the star tattoo her lips thinned, and she got even angrier than before.

“You’re still in the Bratva!”

Oliver winced. She obviously thought the island was just a cover story.

“No, Felicity . . . listen.”

She folded her arms and looked mutinous.

“I’m listening.”

He rubbed his head, and thought for a few seconds.

“After you got out of Moscow – a week after – Anatoli found out about the Ozuls, that they got out. And I found out that their store was a front for the Bratva’s money-laundering business.”

“What?”

“Yeah. And Anatoli was not happy about it, that they’d got away. And his boss wasn’t happy about it. And when they found out that I was the last to see Mehmet in Moscow . . . ”

Felicity looked worried.

“Did they . . . hurt you?”

Oliver considered making something up. But he was tired of the lying, already.

“That’s how I ended up on the island again.”

Her face fell.

“You’ve been there all this time? On your own?”

He nodded, wondering why she was so sad about it. He’d deserved it, right? But she didn’t seem to think so.

“It’s my fault – you would have been far away if you didn’t have to get me out-“

She broke off and covered her mouth, on the verge of tears. He could hardly believe it – she was feeling sorry for him? After what he’d done to her?

“Felicity. I never regretted saving your life, getting you out of there. Never.”

He stared into her eyes, not letting her look away, and was rewarded with a tremulous smile, and a sniff, as she blinked back the tears. Her eyes fell on the laptop again, and she sighed.

“Those look like bullet holes.”

“Yes,” he said, wincing.

Latte, yes or no? He’d been going to say that his coffee shop was in a bad neighbourhood, and for the first time he realised how stupid that sounded. She looked at him again, and this time, the exasperation was clear. As she cocked her head to the side with a calculating stare, he was struck again how adorable she looked like this. And no, Oliver! Down, boy! He did not deserve her, and she didn’t need to be saddled with his baggage, emotional or otherwise.

Felicity looked at the laptop, and frowned. She looked at him, and frowned some more. Then she went to her own machine, tapped on the calendar, and opened a browser window, typing ‘Starling City vigilante’ into google search.

Oliver was sure that his mouth had fallen open, but he couldn’t control himself. It felt like a huge valley was opening up in front of him, and he was being pulled into it, like his whole world stopped spinning, and he was flung into space. She wasn’t . . . she couldn’t have . . . that was a logical leap too far, even for her.

“You’re the Starling City vigilante! The guy with the . . . the hood, and the bows and arrows – and what _is_ it with that anyway, and all the green? Are you Robin Hood? Oh, I get it! It’s because you were in a rural environment and it’s camouflage!”

Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything clever to say to contradict her.

“No . . . no, that’s ridiculous. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was actually spluttering. In a small part of his mind, his inner voice whimpered that Digg was going to be so, _so_ pissed off. In another, he was wondering how this woman always managed to derail his plans: that was twice now. Maybe it was a sign. Of what, he wasn’t sure yet.

“Which part?”

Oliver was pinching his nose, trying to get his thoughts under control, when he registered she’d said something.

“What?”

She was smirking at him.

“Which part is ridiculous? You being the Hood? Or green being good for forest camouflage? Come on, Oliver, your nightclub is going to be called Verdant. _Verdant_!”

Diggle’d said more or less the same thing. She hadn’t finished, though.

“How else are you going to explain the bullet-riddled laptop? Unless you’re lying to me, and you really are still working for the Russians.”

Her tone changed.

“In which case, excuse me while I pack my bags and erase my online identity.”

He couldn’t do this to her – he couldn’t make her think that she was crazy, or that he really was still in the Bratva. But he couldn’t just drop Diggle in it, either. She sat in front of her computer, looking all the world like she was about to start erasing herself from the internet, and he put a hand over one of hers. She looked up at him, and he flashed back to Moscow – she’d had that fearful expression in her eyes then too, and he hated himself for putting it there again.

“Can you give me a few hours? I have a partner I need to discuss this with.”

Felicity sniffed.

“Is he going to come over with a silenced gun, or a garrotte?”

“Felicity, no! Please trust me. Just a little longer. Can you do that?”

She shrugged, trying to look calm, although her hand was playing nervously with the pen she’d been chewing on when he’d come in. He had to leave – he was clearly scaring her.

“Ok, I guess.”

He patted her on the shoulder and left, only realising on the way out of the building that he’d left the laptop behind. But he couldn’t go back now – she’d scream the place down. How could he have been so careless?

“Damn it, Oliver! What’s wrong with you? How could you have been so-“

“Careless?”

“Stupid!”

Oliver had told Diggle everything on the way to the foundry, and he was just as angry as Oliver had expected, but managed to hold it in until they got there. Diggle was right to be angry. If Felicity went to the cops, they were screwed. Though she didn’t have any proof, except a hunch. He tried that with Diggle.

“She doesn’t have any evidence?”

Diggle rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Where’s the laptop, Oliver?”

Oliver winced.

“Yeah. And do you think Lance needs evidence when it comes to you? Look, tell me again what happened in Moscow.”

Oliver summed up the whole thing from the moment he saw her in that warehouse, trying to gloss over the last horrible year on the island, when he was completely alone, though one look at Diggle told him he wasn’t fooling anyone. He still had nightmares once in a while, and Diggle had tried to wake him in the middle of one – good thing he didn’t have a knife on him that time. Diggle had said it was the first time he’d seen someone go from deep sleep to full on fight in under five seconds. He was sure Diggle was getting ready to ask him how he didn’t recognize her when he did his research, and he wanted to stop that before it started.

“Digg, I looked her up! I really did. Now that I’m thinking about it, there was a gap between her graduation and working at QC, but her mother died. And no, there aren’t any pictures of her online before her employment record at QC – I just thought she was shy.”

Diggle rolled his eyes again.

“You really think she’d be good on the team.”

“I’ve told you about her qualifications.”

Diggle sighed.

“That’s not what I’m asking, Oliver, and you know it. Is she messed up, from Russia? Why did she work for the Irish mob? Does she even want to get involved?”

“You can ask her that when you go and pick her up, later.”

Diggle shook his head, grinning.

“What’s the matter, Oliver, scared? Can’t handle one tiny I.T. girl?”

Oliver shot Diggle his best exasperated look, trying to disguise how much he’d like to handle her. Except there was no chance of that. Ever.

“Very funny, Digg. She sees me, all she thinks is ‘this is the guy who choked me out and put me in the trunk of his car.’ You’re clearly one of the good guys.”

“What, you think I can’t be the big scary black man?”

Oliver glared.

“I’m just messing with you. Oliver, she obviously doesn’t see you like that,” he said, as he headed for the door.

“How d’you figure?” Oliver asked, curious.

“Lance and the S.W.A.T. team haven’t busted down the door yet.”

“Yet,” Oliver answered.

Diggle shook his head, smiling, and left. Oliver checked the police scanner for the fifth time that day, and nothing. No frantic calls to 911 from Queen Consolidated, no-one who sounded like Lance requesting a B.O.L.O. on one Queen, Oliver, nothing like that. Still, he didn’t let himself relax until he heard the car pull up in the alley, followed by clicking heels and a murmur which resolved itself into Felicity’s voice. Diggle was walking in front of her, probably to make her feel safer. He could see Diggle’s face, and judging from his silent laughter, she hadn’t stopped talking since she got into the car.

“. . . not that I think you’re going to kill me, not to make a skin suit, anyway. I mean, it’d never fit, because you’re huge! Maybe a sleeveless vest, though . . . or a sleeve . . . note to self: never watch Silence of the Lambs again. This doesn’t look like a murder basement, just a normal creepy basement-“

Felicity stopped in the middle of the foundry and looked around her, slightly awed. She held the laptop to her chest, and when she really looked at him, grinned openly. He was wearing his vigilante gear, complete with quiver.

“Ha! I knew it! Hood guy. The green suits you.”

Her expression turned to one of horror as she looked behind him – he spun around, but she was staring at the network he’d set up.

“This is terrible! What _is_ this?”

She was muttering to herself as she put the laptop down and hung her bag over a chair. What she was saying was unclear, and he only caught a muffled ‘this is Alien vs Predator awful; it’s a crime against computer science’.

“Hey, I liked that movie,” Diggle interjected mildly.

Felicity, who was already crouched behind all the computer equipment he’d set up and was trying to trace connections, mumbling to herself, looked up, a smear of dust on her face.

“That movie featured a woman talking to a 7-foot tall alien being in _English_ , Diggle. It had Predators building pyramids! And this,” she added, waving her hands at his computer set-up, “is the I.T. version of a couple of tin cans and a whole lot of string. You’re going to have to give me your credit card, Oliver. We’re going to Tech Village!”

She looked up and seemed to register their stunned faces.

“What? This wasn’t an interview?”

Oliver and Diggle exchanged reluctant smiles.

“I guess it was,” Oliver answered.

“I’m just surprised you’re ok with it, so quickly. Even Diggle here threw a few punches at me first.”

Diggle rolled his eyes, and mouthed ‘very funny’ in Oliver’s direction.

Felicity paused in whatever she was doing (he’d never thought his setup was _that_ bad), and was visibly thinking.

“What you’re doing here, it’s making a difference. I’d like to be a part of that. Hey, can I have a cool code name, too?”

“NO!”

Oliver and Diggle yelled it at the same time. Felicity jumped.

“It’s just,” Oliver continued in a more normal tone of voice, “I don’t want to put a target on your back, Felicity. And you can help us so much more if no-one knows you’re my . . . “

“Sidekick?” Felicity asked, with a certain amount of snark.

“Partner,” Oliver insisted.

She smiled, and seemed to be about to go back to fiddling with the various wires and cables – she’d even produced a tiny screwdriver from somewhere, and was on the verge of opening up one of the towers, when he cleared his throat.

“Um, Felicity?”

It was hard to get used to the name, after he’d been thinking of her as Meghan for a year now. Not that he’d been thinking of her. Much. She looked up, puzzled, and then remembered.

“Yeah, the laptop. I already recovered the hard drive and put everything on a backup drive – I just got it with me because I didn’t want anyone asking questions at work. Which you own, by the way,” she said, accusingly.

“You could have made things easier for me, just saying. Wait, no-one knows, except us? Right, right.”

They watched, bemused, as she conducted an entire dialogue with herself, not even pausing while she connected the external drive to one of his computers, and brought up what was on it. So, blueprints. Of a company he’d never heard of. Both Felicity and Diggle rolled their eyes at this, and proceeded to give him a lecture on Queen Consolidated’s business practices.

Oliver sighed.

“I don’t own the company – that’s my mom. And she’s just the chief shareholder, really. I guess this means that Floyd Lawton is working for Patel? It’s strange – that guy has been at our house for dinner a few times.”

Diggle shrugged.

“I guess he really wants this Unidac Industries, whatever it is.”

“Whatever the reason, we have to get to the auction,” Oliver continued.

“How about bringing up a floorplan of the auction house so that we know where to hide and have oversight of the . . .”

His voice trailed off as he looked up only to see identical smirks on Felicity and Diggle’s faces.

“And I’m invited to this auction, because Walter is bidding. Great. Just great.”

Diggle nodded.

“Better than that, Oliver. Your mom and Thea are going too.”

Waking up in the foundry to Felicity’s worried face was a mixed experience. He’d been dreaming about Russia again, and in his dream, he’d been the one choked out, by Yao Fei, and Slade Wilson was burying him, until he managed to drag himself awake.

“He’s awake,” Felicity said to someone behind his head, and Diggle came into his eyeline wearing a relieved smile.

“I gotta know what’s in these herbs, Oliver, though I bet you’re gonna say ‘magic’.”

Oliver groaned.

“Please don’t tell me he got me with the curare bullet again.”

“Ok, so I won’t tell you,” Diggle smirked. “And maybe you shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way, man.” His smile vanished.

“Seriously, Oliver, you gotta take better care of yourself. I’m glad you killed that creep, though.”

Felicity vanished from his line of sight, and he raised himself on his elbows, looking at Diggle, who shook his head. When he struggled to get up, Diggle helped him on his feet, and he swayed a little, trying to focus on her. She was sitting in front of his renewed computer network, pretending to check the police scanner, but he could see that she wasn’t happy. It was in the set of her shoulders, and he guessed what she wasn’t happy with. Maybe it would help if she knew why he was doing all this, what the point of his crusade was. He got his father’s notebook out and put it in front of her. She was curious, in spite of herself, and leafed through a couple of pages, but didn’t ask, just gave him an inquiring look.

“When the Queen’s Gambit went down, my father survived.”

Felicity gasped, looking at him in shock.

“He told me to right his wrongs. Then he killed himself so that I’d have enough water to survive. I found this notebook when I buried him.”

He’d been looking down at his hands, not wanting to meet her eyes, when her small hand covered his, and squeezed. He looked up, and her eyes were shiny. He sensed rather than saw Diggle turn away and clear his throat, and he blinked hard to stop the tears. Even though it was five years ago, he still felt it, like a dull knife twisting in his chest. He swallowed, and continued.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know what those names mean. I’ve been assuming that they’re people who failed this city, our city. That they use and exploit and kill people, and that I have to stop them. Somehow.”

Felicity furrowed her brows.

“But Oliver – your father can’t have expected you to deal with all these people. He can’t have known you were going to go all Robin Hood on them!”

Oliver shrugged. He was doing his best, but sometimes it felt like he was just muddling through, always on the verge of some great discovery, always just out of sight.

Felicity fit in so well with their plans, Oliver soon started to wonder how they’d ever got along without her. And when he started an affair with Helena Bertinelli, it was only thanks to Felicity that he didn’t give away the entire operation to Helena. She only found out who he was by comparing the Hood’s fighting style to Oliver Queen’s, but as Felicity was always in the foundry in the evenings, and he didn’t want to expose her, he tried to train Helena elsewhere. And what a disaster that was, he had to ruefully admit, as he ended up having to break Helena out of police custody to keep her quiet. Felicity never once said ‘I told you so’, though. Diggle, on the other hand, never stopped.

He was so comfortable with Felicity in the foundry that he even trained when she was there. He often felt her eyes on him when he was hanging off the steel pipes by one hand, or going up the salmon ladder, and he couldn’t deny that he preened a little. Of course, then he had to go ruin it all by sleeping with Helena, though Felicity never once showed any kind of romantic feeling for him. And he couldn’t admit to feeling anything for her – the way they’d started out, how could he be sure she wasn’t still afraid of him? After the first time, with Floyd Lawton, she never really challenged him about the way he went after the men on the list. Though, to be honest, he found himself holding back from the killing after she’d joined them. He tried to see himself through her eyes, as being more than the thug he’d been in Russia and Hong Kong. When she’d come into his life, he’d wanted to atone. Where had all that gone? Had it all been swept away by that year on the island, alone? The first few weeks in Starling City, his most common nightmare was waking up in Yao Fei’s cave, and being convinced that his rescue, and those weeks back home, were just a dream, and the island was still his reality. Once Felicity came back into his life, he’d had the dream again, but with a change. In it, he crawled out of the cave and into Felicity’s cubicle, and the shock had been enough to wake him.

Still, he couldn’t make a move, he wouldn’t do that to her. He knew she was still grieving over her mother, and he wasn’t going to take advantage of her vulnerability. In fact, just before Christmas, Felicity had announced she needed to spend some time in Las Vegas, for something he couldn’t pronounce. She sighed in exasperation.

“It’s called _yahrzeit_ , and it’s not that hard. It’s like a year, since my mom . . . since my mom. And not a year, year. It’s a Talmudic year, and I’m not even sure I worked it out right. And I’m pretty sure I should’ve organised someone to say Kaddish every day since last year, but it all got on top of me. Anyway, I need to go there and light a candle and say a prayer or two. If you two can get by without me.”

Diggle snorted.

“I think we’ll manage to struggle through, Felicity. How’d you get time off at Christmas, anyway? I thought you said your supervisor was a jerk?”

Felicity crossed her arms, cocked her head, and looked at Oliver, pointedly. He might have pointed out to her supervisor that a pretty important Jewish holiday was at hand, and he didn’t want QC involved in a religious lawsuit, did he? But he wasn’t going to admit anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you find me anything about that arrow?”

The worst thing that had happened recently was another archer popping up in Starling City, and this one did not take any prisoners. Literally. At least he used black arrows rather than green, but he seemed one step ahead of Oliver at all times. Good thing Lance had given him one of the arrows, otherwise he’d still be in the dark.

“Yes, yes,” she said distractedly. She had her bags with her, and was leaving for the airport straight from the foundry.

“Here, I’ve printed everything out for you, ok? Now I really have to get going, I’ll miss my flight.”

Diggle was taking her to the airport, and she was already halfway out into the alley, when she doubled back to stare at him, a worried look on her face.

“Oliver, promise me you’ll be careful. Not to go all Ben Kenobi on you, but I have a bad feeling about this guy.”

He smiled. She looked so earnest and worried about him, and he felt . . . it was difficult for him to analyse his feelings for her, and he wasn’t going to try. He put his hands on her shoulders instead, and looked into her eyes.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. And there’s Diggle here to take care of me. See you in three weeks.”

She nodded and left.

It was probably the lasting effect of the warm feelings left behind by Felicity which led him to the worst idea he’d had recently, which was to revive the Queen Christmas party tradition. That the evening would end with him fighting the Dark Archer in a run-down warehouse surrounded by police and S.W.A.T. was almost a given at that point. And each time his bow clashed against the Archer’s, each time he punched and missed, and especially the time he got shot in the back by this guy who outclassed, outshot, and outpunched him, he remembered Felicity’s words. Especially as he lay in an alley, having managed to land on his back, driving the bolts deeper, and just had enough strength to call Diggle. As he begged for help, and passed out, he had one thought. Felicity had been right.

Waking up in the hospital was pretty embarrassing – he wasn’t feeling much pain, but it was pretty humiliating to have his entire family see him as the idiot he’d been before the island. What was even worse was Diggle handing him his phone, wordlessly. He didn’t even need to put it close to his ear to hear Felicity yelling at him.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful? Do you ever listen to a single word I say?”

She ranted for a few seconds more, and Oliver couldn’t help a sheepish smile, even though it hurt to smile. It hurt to do everything. It cheered him up to hear Felicity’s voice, though. Because she was his friend, nothing more, he insisted hurriedly.

“Oliver? Are you still there? Did you pass out?”

He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound too weird.

“I’m awake, Felicity. Don’t worry so much.”

She sniffed, clearly not impressed.

“I can be on the next flight home, if you want.”

“No, Felicity, really. I need to spend some more time in hospital, and then I have to spend time with Mom and Thea. We kind of had a fight before my ‘accident’.”

“Ok, then. But if you need something, just say the word.”

She paused, hesitating.

“It’s good to hear your voice, Oliver. As a friend, of course,” she added quickly.

“Yes, same here,” he replied.

But he couldn’t help wishing for more, and fell asleep with that thought in mind.

The next few weeks were spent in recovery, until his life started going haywire again. This time, not every problem could be solved by shooting arrows at people and accusing them of having failed Starling City. At first Tommy was cut off by his father, then Walter vanished without a trace, and finally mysterious fires started springing up, mainly seeming to target the fire department, but with a lot of collateral damage. The Tommy situation seemed to be halfway towards a solution when Oliver asked him to manage to the club, with full intention of making him partner as soon as Tommy’s pride would allow it. What had happened to Tommy in those five years, anyway? He’d never been that prickly. Once Oliver had realised that Tommy and Laurel were together, he was fully prepared to give his blessing, not that it was needed – Laurel didn’t owe him anything, not even forgiveness. And after meeting Meg-Felicity, his memories of Laurel and his yearning for her had faded away. Not that it meant anything. Nothing could happen between him and Felicity. She didn’t think of him that way. And the fact that she watched him training meant nothing.

So he and Tommy were partners – at least in his head. Done. But the Walter situation was more of a problem. Had he really been kidnapped? And by whom? And then, just as he started feeling an urge to put the hood back on and take out his bow, the fires started.

Oliver realized he'd only _thought_ he’d hated arsonists before. As he perched in the rafters of his brand-new club, now decorated with a number of open fires, carefully set to maximize confusion and disorientation, he decided he _really_ hated them. And the arsonist must have sabotaged the sprinkler system, because nothing had gone off. But at least, most of the people who’d been at the fire department benefit had got out. Except one. In the middle of what would one day be the dancefloor, there was a ring of flame and billowing smoke, and in the middle of that was Felicity.

What the fuck was she doing here? He hadn’t seen her much since she came back from Vegas – after her third unanswered voice mail, she’d hijacked all his monitors for an annoyed skype call, in which she accused him of trying to push her out of the vigilante business. Which he might have been. After he’d spent six weeks revering from injuries caused by his own overconfidence, he didn’t like the idea that he might be putting her into dangerous situations. But that wasn’t important now, because she was going to die if he didn’t do something. He was balanced on a railing, and he calculated the angle and trajectory quickly. He could do this. He pulled down his hood, as it was just interfering with his peripheral vision at that point – even if there was anyone hidden who’d see his face, he could just blame it on a smoke-induced hallucination.

“Felicity!”

She looked around her, coughing, and squinted at him through the smoke.

“Oliver? Is that you?”

She bent over for a coughing fit again.

“Felicity, I’m getting you out of there! Try to straighten up!”

“How the hell are you going to do that- oh my God!”

Oliver’d managed to shoot an arrow at the opposite wall, swing down and grab her, following through with a swing to the other side of the wall of flame, shielding her with his body. He managed to twist their bodies in mid-air and break their fall – correction, her fall. He landed under her, stunned, on his back. Unfortunately, he wasn’t hurting so bad that her soft, warm body on top of him wasn’t causing a reaction that he hoped and prayed she wouldn’t notice. Because it’d be a few seconds before he could get off the floor. Her first words made him smile, then wince. Her being adorable wasn’t going to help solve his . . . problem.

“Wow, you’re sweaty.”

“You’re welcome.”

She giggled.

“Sorry, Oliver. Thank you for saving my life.”

“Sure, sure.”

Not very eloquent, he thought. But the situation was getting worse, and he had to push her away before she noticed-

“Uh, Oliver. Is that an arrow in your pocket or are you really happy to see me?”

Oliver closed his eyes. His humiliation was complete. Great. Just great.

“Adrenaline?” he ventured, wishing he didn’t sound so tentative.

Felicity laughed, which turned into a coughing fit.

“Yes, of course,” she spluttered, gasping for breath.

He managed to get them both on their feet, and pushed her towards the emergency exit.

“You need to find a paramedic – get your chest looked at . . . I mean checked out . . . I mean listened to!”

Felicity started coughing again as she tried to convey that usually it was her job to do the babbling, but Oliver was starting to get worried about her coughing fits, and he made sure she was outside before he turned back to find the arsonist. No-one messed with his Feli- his club. And his guests, of course.

The next day, once everything had been settled and the police had stopped buzzing around the club, and therefore the foundry, Felicity was back in front of her computers (yes, they were her computers now), giving him a speculative look. Diggle was off reconnecting with his ‘contact in A.R.G.U.S.’ Oliver didn’t have the heart to tell him that he knew it was Digg’s ex-wife, Lyla, who he was still very much in love with.

“What were you doing there, Felicity? You could have died!”

Felicity rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t know you were planning to hold arson parties, Oliver. I might have thought twice about coming if I’d known.”

She threw a padded envelope at him, and he caught it, reflexively. When he opened it, he found his father’s notebook. How could this be? No, wait, his father’s notebook was next to the main keyboard, where it always was. The one Felicity had given him was clean, and had no pages torn out.

“It was on my desk when I came back from Vegas, with this note. It’s from Walter. It says he found it . . . in your mother’s bedroom.”

Felicity was looking at him, waiting for his reaction. Oliver didn’t know what to ask first, and opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, before changing his mind and closing it again. He could only stare at the notebook, and turn it over in his fingers. Something struck him – she’d called him ‘Walter’. Not ‘Mr Steele’. He looked at Felicity again.

“You’ve been helping Walter with something.”

She nodded, biting her lower lip, and then went on the defensive.

“I know I didn’t tell you, but he made me promise to keep it a secret. And I keep my promises,” she said, looking at him through her lashes.

“Walter found something. To do with your father, and the . . . boat accident. He didn’t want to tell me what it was, because he told the head of security, who-“

“Died. In a car crash.”

Oliver had heard about that, and had even been to the funeral, representing the Queen family. He rubbed his face, and looked at the notebook again. His mother was involved? But how could that be? That was crazy talk, right? But it couldn’t just be a coincidence – it was the same notebook, in the same handwriting, and he was pretty sure that the list was the same too. And another thing. Being taken off the street, with Tommy, that first day back. How had the masked thugs known exactly where to find him? What were all those questions about his father, and if he’d survived? It had been five years, wasn’t it all moot at this point? Unless there was something big coming up, and someone figured he’d be in the way, if his father had told him everything. And, even though every fibre of his being rebelled against the thought, maybe . . . maybe his mother was involved too.

“So you think this is why Walter was kidnapped?”

Felicity nodded, looking sad. He went up to her, and looked into her eyes.

“Hey. We’re going to find him. I promise.”

She nodded again, and made a visible effort to cheer up, lifting her head in a challenge as she sat down in front of the monitors, preparing for the evening.

“Only if you stop pushing me away, Oliver! As those crazy kids taught us, we’re all in this together . . .”

She sang the last few words, and Oliver groaned.

“I can’t believe you just used High School Musical to prove your point.”

Felicity snorted.

“ _I_ can’t believe you know about High School Musical, Oliver.”

Oliver strapped on his quiver as she watched, playing with a pen as she waited for the monitoring programs to load.

“Maybe you've heard - I have a kid sister.”

She laughed, and he found himself smiling back, happy just to be with her. And once Diggle came back from his ‘meeting’ with his ‘informant’, they’d start working on a plan. As a team. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of short.
> 
> Rewriting Season 1 was not easy at all, and will be concluded in the next chapter. I left some things out for simplicity's sake. For example, in this universe, Floyd Lawton has nothing to do with the Diggles, and John is still hung up on Lyla from the beginning (no Carly).
> 
> To be perfectly honest, I'm more interested in my take on Season 2 (is this a hint to try and get people to stick with me till then? Yes!), but I will try to do Season 1 justice with the change caused by Felicity's early presence, and not skim over too many events.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments and kudos, I appreciate them more than you can imagine.

“Get out. Get out!”

As Diggle moved towards Felicity, and Helena looked her up and down with a speculative expression on her face, Oliver couldn’t believe how badly the situation had deteriorated. He tried to get himself under control, but the hurt look on Felicity’s face made him want to console her. Bad move.

“This is a private thing, Felicity, please.”

Oliver couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth – now Helena knew her goddam name, for fuck’s sake! What was wrong with him?

Ever since he’d had to tell Tommy the truth, his whole life had gone off kilter. They’d made plans, all three of them, to investigate the notebooks and his mother’s possible involvement. But then someone, or several someones, decided to kill Malcolm Merlyn at the same time, and all their plans went down the toilet.

Fine, so he learned that Floyd Lawton was still alive, on the plus side. Except his best friend’s father was grazed by a curare laced bullet, and it wasn’t like he kept his herbs on him at all times. So he had to tell Tommy the truth. He wouldn’t soon forget the look of contempt on Tommy’s face – and betrayal, too. And then his entire operation went to hell, just like that.

Hearing his oldest friend call him a murderer had been bad enough. Coming down into the foundry to find Helena brutalizing him was worse. And now Helena also knew about Felicity, and the whole thing was officially a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Helena had laughed at his expression when he’d found her down there, twisting Tommy’s arm so far behind his back that Oliver knew his friend must be in agony.

“I followed you for a few days, Oliver. You spend too much time at your club, even when it’s closed.”

He’d managed to talk her into letting Tommy go, and formulating a plan to find where the FBI had her father was child’s play in comparison. Or it would have been if Felicity hadn’t chosen that moment to walk in. But he talked, and talked, until he was sure he’d persuaded her. And it all went south, of course, because that was what his life was all about nowadays. So, new plan. Find Helena again, and stop her, somehow. He’d been open to suggestions, except he’d thrown Felicity out of the foundry, and Diggle’s suggestion hadn’t changed from the first time Helena had come into their lives. But Oliver didn’t think he was there yet.

So he went to the police station, carefully avoiding Lance, and trying to reconnect with Mckenna (because of course the police officer in charge of arresting the vigilante and the Huntress would be someone he knew from the old days) – or rather, trying to find out how her Huntress investigation was going, under the guise of reconnecting. And when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, he let it go to voicemail, thinking that it could wait. When he finally resigned himself to not getting much out of Mckenna, and listened to the message, and heard Helena’s voice interrupting Felicity’s, he realized how badly he’d fucked up this time.

Trying to get to the IT department at Queen Consolidated was like moving through treacle, even when he didn’t have to nod and smile to all the security guards and janitorial staff there at that late hour. When he burst in, he only saw her feet behind one of the desks, and his heart stopped.

“Oliver?”

She sounded weak and scared, and he rushed over, untying her, trying to reassure her as she babbled something about Helena making her find out her father’s location. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, except making sure Felicity was ok. And making Helena pay for every single bruise she’d left on Felicity, for the terrified look in her eyes. Enough was enough. Once Felicity gave him the location she’d handed on to Helena, it was simple enough to find, except he arrived too late to save the U.S. Marshals and other officers Helena’d murdered. Looking at the carnage she’d left behind, his determination only hardened. He’d made up his mind as soon as found Felicity: Helena had to die. So he tried. No one could say he hadn’t tried. How the hell was he supposed to know she’d been practising catching arrows? He didn’t even try to listen to her rambling explanations and attempt at self-justification for her vendetta. She’d already killed the man who’d murdered her fiancé, and it was time to stop, to end this. Most people didn’t get the luxury of revenge, and here she was trying to justify going on a killing spree, thinking it would finally give her peace of mind. He could tell her that wasn’t what killing did to you, but he doubted she’d listen, caught in the echo chamber of her vengeful thoughts as she was.

A sound behind him caused him to turn around: Mckenna was standing there, her service revolver, aimed at him. Or was it aimed at Helena? Suddenly her eyes widened, and when he whipped back around, Helena was pointing a huge black shotgun at Mckenna. The shotgun blast drowned out the single gunshot that snapped back Helena’s head, and both women collapsed to the ground. Oliver felt completely helpless, and wasted a few precious seconds trying to decide who needed his help most. But Helena was clearly beyond help – the shot to the head had killed her instantly.

He ran to Mckenna, and winced. The blast had caught her in the leg, and it looked pretty bad. He grabbed her radio and called it in, calling for an ambulance, making sure to switch the voice modulator on first. She was unconscious, but breathing, and he put pressure on the wound until he heard sirens. Then he tightened the belt he’d loosely wrapped around her upper thigh and vanished into the night.

“But Oliver, you don’t put tourniquets on wounds anymore . . . I mean, I’m sure I read somewhere that it’s bad,” Felicity mused, looking puzzled.

They were all at the foundry, and he’d just finished telling them about the monumental fuck up that he blamed himself for, even though none of them had seen it that way.

“It’s battlefield medicine, Felicity,” Diggle interrupted. “You can still use a tourniquet, as long as it’s for a short time only.”

He was holding a bottle of vodka and three glasses. Oliver was just about to say he didn’t feel very much like celebrating, but Diggle shook his head.

“It’s not a celebration, Oliver. I just think all three of us need a drink right now, and this is the only alcohol you have down here. And I don’t feel like going upstairs, before you remind me that you own a stocked bar. So, drink up, people,” he said, as he filled the three glasses and put them in their hands.

Oliver nodded, agreeing.

“So, I’m pretty sure no-one here wants to toast in Russian,” Diggle mused.

Both Oliver and Felicity shook their heads. She yawned, sleepily.

“I never met my grandma. But my mom says she always toasted the same way, even though it’s pretty ironic to toast to life, what with Helena . . . ”

She looked at Oliver under her lashes, and he shrugged.

“It’s sad that she couldn’t find another way, Felicity. But that’s what she chose.”

Privately he thought that Helena had lost any consideration from him when she hurt Felicity. He’d tried to kill her himself, without hesitation. And he’d do it again, for Felicity.

“So, to life,” Oliver said, and Diggle echoed him.

“L’Chaim,” Felicity added.

She raised her glass, and knocked back the vodka, making an adorable scrunched up face as it went down.

He had to suppress a smile as he saw her swallow another yawn. She swivelled her chair around to look at the monitors, which were covering the club’s security cameras. Even though Felicity had offered to start the monitoring programs and the police scanner, Oliver had said no. They’d had enough action to last them a week, and he just wanted to watch people dancing and having fun, with no inclination to actually join them. He squinted at one group of people near the bar. He’d seen that outfit before. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d been roped in to choose it. What the hell?

“Oh look,” Felicity chorused happily, already slightly affected by the alcohol (and Oliver fully intended to tease her about being a lightweight at the earliest opportunity) “it’s Thea and her new boyfriend!”

Silence fell in the foundry. Oliver’s fingers tightened around his glass.

“It’s _who_ and her new _what_?”

“Oh shit!”

Felicity looked sheepish.

Oliver glared at Diggle, who put his hands out in an ‘I know nothing’ gesture, before pouring more vodka in their glasses.

“Felicity?”

“No need to bellow,” Felicity said mulishly.

“I wasn’t . . . just tell me? Please? Who is this guy, and why is he at my club with my underage sister- underage for drinking, I mean,” he added, before anyone could point out that Thea was eighteen.

Felicity sighed.

“So last week, I was here pretty early because we had a half day off – I don’t know, some office pot-luck, and I left early. Tommy was already here, and Thea was asking him if he had a job for Roy, and I asked who he was, bla bla. The story is kind of cute, really.”

She threw down the second glass of vodka.

He raised his eyebrows and she continued, muttering ‘ok, ok’.

“A few weeks ago she had a flat tire in the Glades, and this guy just turned up and changed her tire for her – just like that! Wasn’t that nice? And they started talking, and one thing led to another, and now they’re going out.”

Diggle snorted with laughter, and Oliver put his head in his hands.

“What?” Felicity stared at the both of them like they’d lost their minds. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Now, I'm just asking, but did Thea put gas in her car before the flat tire?” Diggle asked gently.

“I think so, she might have mentioned it . . . you think someone let down her tire there? So it was a con? But wait a minute, Roy didn’t jack her car!”

“No,” Oliver said grimly. “Maybe he has something else in mind. Have you even done a background check on him?”

“No, I didn’t want to invade Thea’s privacy,” Felicity said primly, though once she saw the look on Oliver’s face, she hurriedly started tapping on the keyboard.

When his arrest record came up, they all stared at the screen for a few seconds. Roy Harper sure had been up to a lot in a very short time – petty theft, carjacking, some street crime. Nothing that violent though. Felicity latched on to that immediately.

“He hasn’t hurt anyone,” she said, slurring slightly.

Oh, Felicity, he thought. Always ready to see the best in people. And she was practically falling asleep in that chair.

“And that’s a good thing, Felicity . . . hey, Digg-“

Diggle just nodded, not even letting him finish.

“I’ll take her home, don’t worry. What about you?”

Oliver shook his head.

“It’s ok, I’ll use the Ducati. You get some sleep.”

Diggle nodded and half-helped, half-carried Felicity out through the alley way.

Oliver yawned, and tried to will himself out of the chair. He needed to decompress after the night’s fiasco, that is, get some sleep, and he couldn’t do it in the foundry. He needed to think about what he was going to say to Mckenna in the morning, or afternoon, depending if she could see visitors or not. He needed to train himself to respond to enquiries about Helena’s death, and to act surprised when it came up. Socialite Oliver Queen wouldn’t be following the police blotter, would he? Now he knew that he also had to find about this Roy Harper, and what he wanted with his baby sister. Though looking at the guy on the monitors, and going through his arrest record, Oliver had to go back on his first kneejerk reaction. Yes, this was a troubled kid, but he wasn’t violent. He studied the monitors again. Thea had been talking earnestly to Tommy, while Roy waited, and finally Tommy smiled, and shook Roy’s hand. Tommy seemed to like him. Maybe there wasn’t an ulterior motive after all.

Leaning back in his chair, his eyes fell on the identical notebooks on the desk. They needed to get going with this investigation, though he had no idea where to start. And every time he wanted to, something else cropped up which needed his immediate attention. Enough. He got up, stretching his back and arms, feeling joints pop. He was going home, to get some sleep. All this crap would keep till the morning, and possibly even the afternoon.

And once again, the moment he tried to get to the bottom of the mystery of the notebooks, Starling City madness set in. Except this time, he was responsible.

“No, Oliver, you’re not!”

Felicity’s eyes were flashing, and Diggle was shaking his head too. Oliver waved at the screen, where all of Starling City had just watched the Assistant D.A. die screaming, after his own useless parkour jaunt through the city.

“Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s identifying people he thinks have ‘failed this city’, and he’s killing them! Hell, I was going after Nickel! He just got there first! I was the one who showed him how it’s done, and he’s following my example.”

Oliver leaned on his hands and desperately wanted to sweep everything off the table, make a grand gesture of some kind. Only the knowledge that Felicity would kill him if he touched her computers stopped him. Besides, what good would it do? Two men were dead, and this guy showed no sign of stopping. He noticed that Felicity was looking really dejected, and swallowed all his ranting.

“I’m sorry, guys.”

Diggle just waved him off. Felicity’s eyes were shiny. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He tried to come up with something to erase the effect of what he’d just said, and couldn’t, deciding that what he really needed was a time machine. And that was when the new video feed was released. And Roy Harper’s terrified face appeared on their monitor.

Much, much later that evening (or was it night?), the three of them sat in the foundry once more, too exhausted to even think of moving. Oliver was trying to ignore the sight of his kid sister making out with her boyfriend – they had the club’s security cameras on their monitors again. Felicity was looking really beat, he thought, and came to a decision. What was the point of owning a club if he and his friends never got to unwind in it?

“Ok, this is what we’re going to do-“

Felicity interrupted him.

“If you’re going to say, ‘drag Roy Harper away from my sister,’ I can’t help you there, buddy.”

“No, actually, I was gonna say that we deserve some R&R, what d’you say, Digg . . .?”

But Diggle was staring at the cover of his father’s notebook, at the strange grid which they hadn’t been able to identify.

“I’ve seen this somewhere before . . . it’s so familiar, but-“

The map they’d been using all day to trace the abandoned subway route was visible from the corner of Oliver’s eye, and he turned to look at it fully. He couldn’t believe it – it was staring them in the face, all along.

“Felicity, can you enlarge that subway grid?”

And as soon as she did that, it was clear. It matched the image on the notebook exactly. They all stared at it.

“So,” Oliver mused, stretching out the word. “The Undertaking is somewhere in the old subway tunnels? Has something to do with the subway tunnels?”

He stifled a huge yawn, but Felicity had a new spark in her eyes, and pulled the keyboard towards her. He put his hand over hers, and she looked at him, startled.

“Hey. What I was going to say, before we found this out, is that I think we should take a break. From all this,” he gestured around him at the foundry.

He looked at Diggle, who was surveying them with a look of faint amusement on his face.

“You too, Digg. Come on. Let’s go upstairs, have a few drinks – I own a club,” he said, trying to convey his disbelief. “We had a win today.”

He met their eyes and winced.

“Fine, a partial win. But I got to save my sister’s boyfriend, and now I have to watch them making out until I’ll either have to kick his ass or blind myself, and I need some alcohol for that. What d’you say?”

Diggle nodded, but Felicity looked doubtful.

“I’m not really dressed for clubbing,” she said, looking down at herself.

He thought she looked, well, amazing, but he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. Diggle had a smirk on his face. Oliver must have looked at her . . . uh . . . her chest a little too long.

“You look great, Felicity. And you’re my guests – you can wear what you like. Come on, guys . . . ?”

He used to be good at this, he remembered, getting people to go out and get plastered. Felicity smiled reluctantly, and just excused herself to freshen her makeup before they went up. Oliver had already changed into his street clothes, and Diggle was ok too, so they were fine. Diggle was still looking at him quizzically.

“What?”

“Oliver, it’s not right to make a move on a girl if you’re still hung up on another.”

“Why does everyone think I’m still hung up on Laurel? And who says I’m making a move on anyone?”

Diggle frowned.

“It’s not that I don’t have . . . “ he lowered his voice, “ _feelings_ for Felicity, because I do. It’s just that . . . “

He sighed.

“Because of the life that I lead, I can’t be with anyone I really care about. And . . . and this is fucking weird,” he hissed, practically whispering at this point, “and if you tell anyone I’ll deny it, but I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

It was true. He really didn’t. He could hardly believe it of himself, but there it was. Diggle shrugged.

“I think that’s bullshit. Not your feelings for Felicity,” he added, hurriedly. “The whole pushing her away crap. I tried that, with Lyla. It didn’t take. But you’re still young. You’ll learn.”

Oliver rolled his eyes and considered a snotty ‘thanks, _dad_ ’ in reply, but Diggle would just give him that stern disapproving look he knew so well.

Felicity came out of the bathroom with her hair down and her lipstick brightened – she looked happier than she’d been all day, and he was annoyed at himself for keeping her in their dark cave for so long. Maybe pushing her away for her own good was bullshit, maybe it wasn’t. But it sure as hell was hard.

So they came up out of the basement (a foundry, Oliver insisted; not a basement) into the bright flashing lights of Verdant, and for one night, everything seemed fine. Oliver opened up the VIP lounge, and told the bar staff to send a couple of bottles of water and as many cocktails as Felicity knew the names of. After trying to talk Diggle into sharing a bottle of whiskey with him, Oliver just sent for the best whiskey they had, and three glasses. He managed to persuade Tommy to come and join them for a drink, and dragged Thea to join them, killing two birds with one stone – stopping the incessant smooching which was starting to give him heartburn, and making sure that Thea was only drinking virgin cocktails.

Later, looking back at that night, Oliver realised it was the last fun time before everything went to hell.

After Diggle’s breakthrough, Oliver decided they really had to get to grips with the notebooks. Listening to his mother’s phone calls, he still couldn’t believe they’d talked him into this. Though he had to admit that they’d been right, eventually. Among many phone calls to friends, her accountant, lawyers, and so on, one stood out – a call to Malcolm Merlyn, which yielded some very guarded phrases, another mention of the Undertaking and Moira not having to ‘make the usual threats’.

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Felicity quipped.

Diggle snorted.

“How are we going to find out more, Oliver? It’s taken us listening to days of phone calls to just get this. Can’t you just ask your mother about it?”

Oliver shook his head even before Diggle finished speaking.

“Bad idea, Digg. When those guys kidnapped me and Tommy, they kept asking me about my dad, if he’d told me anything before he died. I thought I’d ask mom if dad was involved with anything, you know, play it like I was in the dark.”

“She shut you down?”

“She absolutely did. She talked to me like I was a teenager – wouldn’t even discuss it.”

Felicity was smirking, but stopped when he caught her eye.

“Sorry. I’m just imagining the scene.”

Oliver mock-glared at her and she pouted.

“How about the vigilante tries to get some answers from her – there’s a meeting in her office tonight, I could burst in . . . and you’re shaking your head, Felicity.”

She was in fact shaking it so vigorously her ponytail was flying around.

“Oliver. Did you ever wonder how I managed to smuggle a gun into Queen Consolidated, with all the security you guys have?”

“Actually, I –“

“Shh. That was a rhetorical question. I made friends with the custodians, of course. When they need I.T. work done, I do it for them, and they close one eye when I ask them to bring a bag in that hasn’t been checked by security. They know what’s in it, of course – I told them I had an ex-boyfriend who was stalking me. Anyway, they also share all the gossip with me – specifically, that there’s a drawer in Mrs Queen’s office that is off limits. And Rosa caught a glimpse of it one day, and she saw Mrs Queen’s gun.”

They all sat and thought about this for a few seconds.

“My mom wouldn’t shoot me,” Oliver started tentatively.

“No, Oliver,” Diggle answered. “But she’d shoot the Hood. And you wouldn’t defend yourself against your mother. It’s a bad idea.”

Fine, so they would think of something else. But at least they had a lead to pursue regarding the Undertaking, the first solid lead since hearing that word. Which was good, because success in that area did not translate into successful relationships, especially his relationship with Tommy, which had really started to collapse with his revelation of being the Vigilante. And Tommy just didn’t want to believe that Oliver was no competition in his relationship with Laurel. Oliver wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell Tommy about Felicity, though deep down, he was. He couldn’t lie to Tommy anymore. And if he had to explain where they’d first met . . . well. Anything which made Tommy look at him with even more contempt was not something Oliver could stomach. So Oliver just kept insisting there was nothing between him and Laurel, and Tommy kept on not believing it, and it didn’t help when Tommy made Oliver offer Laurel a place to stay with an orphaned kid in danger. It was as if Tommy _wanted_ to be proven right. And even when nothing happened, except a battle with a hit man which Oliver could have done without, because it meant that Quentin Lance had an excuse to come over and yell at him, Tommy _still_ looked at him like he’d spent the night sweet-talking Laurel into bed. And the end result was still Tommy quitting the club and going to work with his father.

Which was the worst result of all, because it had become increasingly clear that Malcolm Merlyn was the main instigator behind the Dark Archer and the Undertaking. They’d been picking up clues since the tapped phone call, which sounded more ominous the more they listened to it. It was Oliver’s idea to stage a kidnapping by the Hood, so that his mother would finally admit the truth, or watch him being beaten to a pulp. He was glad that she’d come out with it before Diggle broke his jaw. But even being at the wrong end of Digg’s fists wasn’t as painful as listening to his mother admit that she knew what the Undertaking was, who kidnapped Walter, and where he’d been for the last six months.

“Why didn’t you ever tell someone, so they could stage a rescue?” Diggle roared, infuriated, it sounded like.

Oliver couldn’t blame him. But his mother sounded terrified.

“Malcolm said he’d kill him! And then he’d take Oliver, or Thea, or both, and keep them until the Undertaking was over! I couldn’t risk it!”

Still, he couldn’t help pushing her away when she came to help him up. And was glad he had, when he found the horrible hole poor Walter had been in for six months. As he looked around him, he was glad he’d mowed through all those guys, and wished he could do it again, hitting harder this time. It was always satisfying to find a problem that could be solved by hitting people, a lot. This time it was more so than most.

The other thing his mother had told them, which was even harder to believe, was that Malcolm Merlyn had plans to level the Glades using an earthquake machine developed by Unidac industries. Hearing that name was a shock. It had all started with the Unidac auction, all those months ago, and now they were there – having found the real reason for his father’s notebook, for his father’s demands. He couldn’t help wishing his father’s instructions had been clearer, maybe with a little added post-it note about the Undertaking. It was pointless moaning about it now, though. They just had to find the device, which meant Felicity had to break into Merlyn’s network, which apparently wasn’t easy. At all.

The plan went off without a hitch, though, and had an added bonus – that he got to put his arms around Felicity, albeit while swinging over an elevator shaft, but hey. It wasn’t like he got a lot of full body contact nowadays. And then there was the strange thing she’d said, when he’d asked her to hold on to him. It still rang in his mind, mostly at inopportune times. He couldn’t help smiling when her face changed as she realised she’d said ‘I imagined you saying that to me in different circumstances,’ and then trying to rescue it with ‘very platonic circumstances’.

And he could write all of that off as typical Felicity babble, except he didn’t want to. Was there something there? Did she have feelings for him, too? It was so much on his mind that he almost forgot what he’d planned to say to Tommy. He managed to get it together, and listen to what Tommy was telling him, and groaned. Tommy had broken up with Laurel? What the hell? He tuned in again to hear Tommy ranting about him, and his supposed deep love for Laurel, and came to a decision. Enough.

“Tommy, stop. Just stop.”

Tommy stared at him, mouth open.

“I’m going to say this once, Tommy, and then I’m done with the subject. I can’t keep going over the same thing with you. I don’t love Laurel anymore. Maybe one day she can be a friend, but right now she doesn’t give a damn whether I live or die. You’re the man she loves, and if you can’t get off your ass and deal with that, then you don’t deserve her.”

Tommy was still incredulous.

“That’s the longest speech I’ve heard you give since you came back.”

Oliver shrugged and left, hoping it would have the effect he wanted, because he’d been honest – he was tired of arguing the same point over and over. Being caught in some kind of love triangle with Tommy and Laurel was not why he’d come back to Starling City, why he’d chosen to be rescued when he had. There had been a couple of opportunities before that fishing boat, but he hadn’t been ready yet. When that time came, it was because he’d been starting to feel a sense of urgency, like he’d missed something – and nowhere had there been the thought of getting involved with Laurel again. Hadn’t he done enough to her, and her family? He listened to Diggle extricate Felicity from the building and smiled, even as he felt a twinge of jealousy when she loudly proclaimed that Tommy was ‘her man’. And then he groaned at himself. Get it together, man. You’re as bad as Tommy.

Meeting back at the foundry, they planned their next move, as they waited for Felicity’s decryption program to process the data. It took longer than they thought, so they hung around, and after Felicity used her loud voice to tell them to stop hovering, they tried to work off their tension instead of bottling it up, with Diggle punishing the heavy bag and Oliver doing one of his indoor parkour runs. And Felicity watched him, and he pretended he couldn’t see her watching. He thought about what Diggle’d said, that it was stupid to push her away, that he was just making them both unhappy. He lost himself in a dream world in which he spent all his days (and nights) with her – was it only a dream? Could he have that, once the Undertaking was dealt with, once he’d done what his father had asked? He was still musing about it when Felicity called them to the monitor. So now they had an address, and Diggle would go there, while Oliver would confront Malcolm Merlyn. What could possibly go wrong?

Oliver knelt in the creaking rubble, staring into space. Occasionally, a beam snapped, or some overstressed furniture gave way with a cracking sound, and he jumped, but he soon zoned out again. What was he doing here? It came back to him, bit by bit. The confrontation with Malcolm, which he’d lost (because Malcolm was the Dark Archer, which was par for the course, nowadays), the second confrontation, which he’d won (barely), and the city collapsing, because of course Malcolm had a second machine. Of course he did. And it wasn’t the whole city, just a small part, which happened to contain, at the moment, his best friend. Who was dead. Tommy was dead. He started as the thought came to him, and tried to push it away, but it kept nudging at him, not letting him zone out. It couldn’t be. This was one of his nightmares, and he was going to wake up. Right now. It occurred to him after a few seconds that dreams didn’t work like that. He looked at Tommy’s body again. This was no nightmare. He was awake. And Tommy was dead.

How had this happened? He looked at Tommy again, begging him to open his eyes, to wake up, make a joke, tell him it was all a prank – got you good, Oliver! Tommy’s voice was so clear in his head, he thought he’d heard it out loud. But Tommy hadn’t moved. He went back over the day’s events, but when he tried to sort it all out, it was like watching a movie out of order. Scenes appeared in his head, and he tried to pinpoint one which would explain it all. But nothing helped, and one ran into the other. His arguments with Tommy, with his mother, Lance being roped in to find the device, Diggle coming with him to fight Malcolm, Felicity in the foundry co-ordinating. He could still feel the twinge in his shoulder where he’d stabbed himself with his last arrow, to kill Merlyn. And still, he couldn’t understand how he’d arrived here, in this building, with Tommy.

Everything he’d done since his return to Starling City had led to this, sobbing like a lost child over the body of his dead friend. He begged Tommy to wake up, but it was over, he knew that. He’d seen enough death to know when it was over. He took off his gloves and touched Tommy’s neck, wanting to feel a pulse so badly it hurt, but there was nothing. His skin was still warm, which was perhaps the greatest insult of all.

Oliver heard voices approaching, and the sound of shifting rubble, and toyed with the idea of staying there, of letting them arrest him. What was the point of all this? It had always been a fool’s crusade, he knew that now. But if he was arrested, they’d investigate the club, and they’d find the foundry. And they wouldn’t stop at him – he deserved prison, but neither Felicity nor Diggle did.

So he slipped out quietly, and headed for another safe-house he’d set up – not even Diggle knew about this one. He had a spare set of clothes there, and a bag. He took a certain amount of satisfaction in balling up the suit and throwing it in a corner. He’d never wear it again. He got on the Ducati again, and headed for the docks. The sooner he got out of Starling City, the better.

He walked along the main dock until he found a ship with Mandarin lettering and memorized the name. He’d spotted a run-down bar while driving up, which was close enough to the water that he was sure he’d find all the sailors there. He’d stick out like a sore thumb, but that was the point – he could sit there, and wait for them to come along and fleece the _laowai_. He had money on him, and he’d need it, if he wanted them to divert to Lian Yu and drop him off there. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, trying to get himself under control. Lian Yu. Tommy would still be alive if he’d stayed there. He should never have left.

An hour later, he was drinking with his new friends, three thousand dollars lighter. He still had cash on him, sewn into his clothes, in case they decided the price had gone up during the trip. He’d still have to work his passage, and he didn’t mind – it would distract him from the image of Tommy bleeding out in front of him, pathetically happy that Oliver hadn’t killed his father. As he threw back another shot, he wished Malcolm back to life, so that he could kill him again.

The bar wasn’t especially noisy, so when the car screeched to a halt outside, everyone heard it. Oliver knew that engine, and confirmed it when he went outside. It was the BMW, and Diggle was driving. But he wasn’t alone.

Felicity burst out of the passenger seat, looking infuriated. Her hair was a mess, half escaped from her ponytail, she was covered in dust, and she exuded rage from every pore. She looked beautiful. He immediately forgot all his plans and walked towards her, though the anger in her look brought him to a halt before he got too close.

“What the hell is this, Oliver?”

“I . . .”

He couldn’t say it. His throat tightened, and he just couldn’t get the words out. Her expression, and Diggle’s, changed.

“Oliver?”

He swallowed. How was he supposed to tell them? He couldn’t even keep his best friend safe.

“What happened?”

Felicity put a hand on his arm, and the compassion in her face made it even more painful to try and get the words out.

“Tommy . . . Tommy’s dead. He went in after Laurel, and got her out, but then . . . the building collapsed . . . he died.”

Diggle looked away, blinking, and Felicity covered her mouth. He knuckled at his eyes savagely. Hadn’t he cried enough today?

“I’m so sorry, Oliver. I really am.”

Oliver nodded, trying to keep it together. Just a little longer. Until they left. Though they weren’t. Leaving, that is. They were expecting him to talk to them, that was clear enough. Conversation, right. Could he still do that?

“How did you find me?”

Felicity folded her arms and gave him one of her sceptical looks – specifically the one which suggested that she wondered how he managed to dress himself in the mornings.

“You think you’re so clever, with the GPS tracker in your boot. I’ve been working on a super-powerful, double-encrypted signal, and I’ve put my experimental trackers everywhere. _Everywhere._ ”

She looked around her, seemingly for the first time.

“Why here, though? What’s so special about . . . oh.”

Felicity had spotted the fishing boat he’d just bought a passage on.

“Are you _leaving_? Just like that? Without telling anyone?”

“This . . . what I’ve been doing . . . it’s pointless. Tommy’s death is my fault. It’s on my head. I should never have come back here.”

Felicity’s lips thinned and her eyes flashed.

“I won’t even touch that, Oliver. You know that’s not true. But what about your family? What about Thea? And your mother? They need you.”

“Thea’s eighteen now. She can take care of herself. And my mother . . . “

He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, the bitterness, but he wasn’t successful.

“My mother is responsible for this. She’s going to jail. And she can stay there. I don’t care if she ever gets out-”

The slap registered as a loud whip crack in his ear first, and he felt the sting after. Felicity glared at him, and tried to surreptitiously flex her fingers.

“How dare you say that to me. When you know my mother is gone. When you know I’d give anything, _anything_ , to have my mother back, even for a day.”

Oliver wasn’t sure what was worse, the pain in her voice, or the contempt on her face.

“You still have a family, a mother, a sister, and you choose to throw it all away. And look at you, judging a woman who’s been coping on her own, surrounded by sharks, for five years, dealing with, among other things, a murderous sociopath and a bratty teenager. Look,” she said, waving him off, “I like Thea, ok? But let’s not fool ourselves. She’s a handful. And your mom couldn’t confide in anyone, or at least she felt she couldn’t and . . . “

Felicity ran out of steam and put her hand on her forehead, trying to collect her thoughts.

It came to him like a bolt of lightning. He loved her. More than that, he was _in_ love. She was the only woman he’d ever love. And that meant he had to leave, more than ever. Didn’t it? Didn’t he bring death and destruction wherever he went? He went to put his hand on her shoulder, and she stopped him with a gesture.

“No. Just let me finish.”

Felicity took a deep breath, and he could see how hard this was for her. And he suddenly knew what she was going to say, and he didn’t know if he could bear it.

“When I was sitting in that warehouse, waiting to die, I didn’t know what was happening, or why. It was like some nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. But once I realised it was real, that I wasn’t going to wake up, ever again, I knew one thing. I was completely alone in this world. No one would ever know or care that I’d died. It would be like I’d never existed.”

He shook his head, the tears stinging his eyes again. She was crying too, but she managed to speak clearly in spite of that.

“But you’re not alone, Oliver. You have your mother, and your sister, no matter what you say. They need you, and you need them. And what about us, huh?” she asked, wiping her eyes and trying to sound more normal.

“Aren’t we your friends? Don’t we count? And you were just going to sail away and leave us . . . wait, where were you headed, anyway? Tahiti? I hear it’s great this time of year.”

“Um. I was actually going back to the island,” he mumbled, ashamed of the impulse that had led him there.

Diggle looked at him incredulously.

“Man, Oliver, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Felicity was shaking her head.

“Unbelievable. Just no, Oliver. Stop talking. You’re not going anywhere, except home. And your poor mom, who had twenty-two years of your douchery to put up with – though I guess you only became a douchebag once you learned to walk – so twenty-odd years? Yeah. I think she’s entitled to some consideration from you. So. Deal?”

She held out her hand for him to shake, and he stared at her in disbelief. How could she want him to stay? After the mess he’d made, how could anyone? He looked at Diggle, but he’d apparently been infected by whatever was driving Felicity right now, because he nodded, and mouthed a single word, ‘stay’.

Felicity was still holding her hand out, but he ignored it, and surged towards her, enveloping her in his arms. He’d been stupid. They were his family too. How could he have even considered abandoning them?

“I have it on good authority that I was an adorable child,” he mumbled into her hair.

And if he took the opportunity to squeeze her a little harder than he needed to, who was to know (except Diggle, who was giving him a knowing look).

“Ha! Love is blind,” she retorted.

He noticed that she was waving an arm towards Diggle.

“I don’t think we hug, Felicity.”

“Tonight you do. Right this minute, mister.”

He felt her smile when Diggle obeyed her and wrapped them up in a bear hug. Then he noticed she was looking over his shoulder at something.

“Uh, Oliver? Why is the entire crew of that fishing trawler waving and smiling at us while they sail out to sea?”

“Are they Chinese?”

“Is it racist if I say yes?”

“I paid them three thousand dollars for a passage to Lian Yu.”

Diggle couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, and disengaged, clapping Oliver on the back.

“You are one dumbass white boy, you know that, right?”

Oliver nodded. He felt lighter than he had all day, and allowed himself a smile. Then he thought of Tommy, and the city, and the smile slid off his face.

“Guys.”

They’d been walking back to the car, and they turned around, waiting.

“I can’t be that man anymore. Tommy . . . he called me a murderer . . . I can’t . . .”

“But you don’t have to, Oliver!”

Felicity was so earnest, she was practically glowing. It was almost painful to look at her.

“Right now, the city needs everyone to pitch in. And you can do so much more as Oliver Queen than as the Hood. Don’t you get that?”

Oliver nodded. She was right. And Diggle was right, too. What had he been thinking? Running away was never the answer. And neither was putting arrows in people, right now. He’d find another way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished season one, phew!
> 
> Now I promise that things will be more interesting and definitely different, because a changed season two was where I was always headed.
> 
> E.T.A. I am aware that this chapter is perhaps a little rushed. And I definitely will go back to it once I finish the story (or if I get stuck in a chapter) and clean it up a little.
> 
> But I no longer have a lot of time to write, and so I'd rather get to the parts I know I'll enjoy working on most, in the time I can allot to writing. Then, when I have more leisure time, I'll fix what's wonky, promise!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments, kudos and bookmarks - they are extremely encouraging.

Sitting at her desk in the newly refurbished I.T. department, Felicity was bored. Bored, bored, bored. After the earthquake, a month ago, she’d thought it was a good idea to tell Oliver that he didn’t have to be a vigilante, that he didn’t have to shoot arrows at people to save his city. What had she been thinking? She chewed on her pen some more, then spat hurriedly. She’d bitten through the plastic, dammit. She rummaged through her drawer for a small hand mirror and checked her mouth, but only a little red ink had come out, and it was on her tongue. As long as she didn’t stick it out at people, she’d be ok. Though she felt like sticking her tongue out at one person in particular.

To be fair, it had been good advice. And Oliver had taken it to heart. After the confusing days following the earthquake and the disaster in the Glades, it had taken some time for her to realize that Oliver hadn’t gone home that night. He’d gone straight to Queen Consolidated, had teleconferenced with the board of directors and Walter Steele, and had started a plan rolling to save QC from a financial disaster. According to Diggle, who was her only source of information these days, the stock market had not reacted well to a decidedly unnatural disaster, caused in part by one Moira Queen, C.E.O. of Queen Consolidated. Even though Oliver still had no intention of taking over as C.E.O., he had some idea of what needed to be done.

Though the first thing that needed to be settled was Tommy’s funeral.

With Malcolm Merlyn being officially classed as missing, presumed dead, there was no official family left in Starling City to organize it. And, Diggle had told her, it had fallen to Oliver. It was the day before the memorial service, and he was in the I.T. department, during one of their infrequent chats.

“But, Digg, wasn’t Tommy dating Laurel? I mean, shouldn’t she be involved, somehow?”

“Oliver says she asked him to do everything when he asked her. Like Oliver knows anything about funerals,” Diggle scoffed.

As a response to her enquiring look, he nodded.

“I gave him a hand. Tommy never told him what he wanted, so we’ve set up a simple graveside service.”

He looked at her.

“Are you coming?”

Felicity stared at him.

“I didn’t even know Tommy – I mean, I met him once or twice at Verdant, but I doubt he even knew my name.”

Diggle gave her one of his knowing looks. She immediately sat up straighter.

“Funerals are for the living, Felicity. Oliver needs you there. He needs his friends around him right now.”

None of the responses that leapt to her mouth were in any way appropriate, so she was glad she didn’t say anything.

“Besides, what with Malcolm Merlyn killing all those people, I doubt there’ll be a lot of mourners there.”

The next day, at the funeral, Felicity had to admit Diggle had been right, if only partially. No, there weren’t a lot of people there. And most of them left fairly quickly. But Oliver didn’t need her. Not when he had Laurel, who never left his side. And to be honest, it broke her a little to see Oliver like this – once the officiant had left, along with the others who’d come, he’d broken down in sobs. She could hear him blaming himself, and after a few seconds, Laurel put her hand on his shoulder in comfort. Diggle was standing some distance away, waiting for Oliver in his role as his driver, while Oliver tried to get his feelings under control. Felicity decided to leave. She wondered about Laurel as she left, though – she’d been completely dry-eyed and blank, even as Oliver had sobbed into her shoulder. She looked speculative, more than anything. Felicity shrugged and put it out of her head. Everyone grieves differently, she knew that.

A few days later, when Felicity had come in to work, the entire QC staff had been linked in to a live announcement of a change in management – Oliver Queen would be V.P. but as a silent partner, and the new C.E.O. was one Kalika Varman, who gave a wonderful speech about pulling together in these trying times. It was all very inspiring, and she and Oliver made an amazing couple, power-suited and beautiful. Really, Felicity? You’re really going there. You’re not bored, you’re just jealous that Oliver had time for everyone except you. Ok, so maybe they weren’t together. Maybe. Kalika Varman was his type, though – tall and lovely. She reminded Felicity of Mckenna Hall. And maybe a little of Aishwarya Rai. So, stunningly beautiful, in other words.

She really had to pull it together, she told herself sternly. First she’d spent a funeral being jealous of Laurel Lance, which she was sure was really inappropriate, and now she was jealous of the new CEO? It wasn’t like Oliver belonged to her. She tried to concentrate on what Oliver was saying, which was pretty interesting, if the hushed murmurs from her co-workers were any clue.

Oliver was announcing that QC employees would be having two paid half days off per week for the next month, and he would appreciate it if at least one of those days would be used to volunteer at the most hard hit sites. He’d be there too, he said. And though most of the office staff she spoke to scoffed at that, he’d told the truth. Even if she hadn’t spent a few half days helping in the hurriedly set up soup kitchen, where she could see Oliver working in the construction sites nearby, she’d have seen it in the youtube videos of Oliver in a hard hat, clearing rubble and helping with reconstruction. She shouldn’t have been surprised – Diggle had told her Oliver had done a lot of work in the foundry himself. When she asked Diggle how QC could afford all that, he told her, after making her promise not to leak it anywhere, that Oliver was financing it, along with a great part of the reconstruction, out of his own funds.

She had a few more chats with Diggle, though he had much less time on his hands now that Oliver had made him a security consultant with QC.

“Oliver said he doesn’t need a driver, and I was overqualified for the job anyway.”

Diggle was beaming, and Felicity couldn’t help feeling happy for him. She’d die before she let it slip that she felt a little envious, too. She couldn’t help being curious about their new C.E.O., and even though Diggle smirked at her oh so innocently placed question, he’d still answered it – Kalika Varman had worked for a while with Walter, at Starling National Bank. Walter liked and trusted her, and Oliver trusted his judgement.

After a while, Felicity had felt inspired by all the refurbishment and rebuilding going on, and one evening, when work had gone on for longer than usual, decided she’d go to the foundry. Maybe she could clear up a little – if Oliver changed his mind about his vigilante career, it would be great if the foundry was waiting for him. And she was sure that nothing majorly structural had been damaged in the quake.

Traffic towards Verdant seemed to be more clogged than usual, though. She looked out the window, to try and see if there’d been an accident, or maybe a traffic deviation caused by the earthquake . And then she remembered the day’s date. How could she have forgotten? The I.T. department, as well as everyone else, had talked of nothing else for weeks. This was the night Verdant re-opened. And it was free entry for everyone. The line of cars started a few blocks away, and some party-goers had already parked miles away and were making their way to the club on foot. Diggle was there too – Oliver had hired extra security for the night, and Diggle was supervising them. Though Diggle wasn’t too worried – he said there were plenty of people still so angry at Moira Queen that they wouldn’t be seen dead in a nightclub owned by her son. And it wasn’t like Oliver was offering free drinks – he’d wanted to, but Thea, who’d been partially running things since Tommy left, along with Roy’s help, had put her foot down.

Felicity was torn for a few minutes, during which the traffic moved a few inches forward. She could go, couldn’t she? Even though she really wasn’t dressed for it. But she knew the owner, which had to count for something, right? Except Oliver would be really busy tonight. It wasn’t like he could drop everything and just focus on her. Even as her inner voice called her a coward, she did a u-turn and headed for home. So, that was what it felt like to be the Cinderella who _wasn’t_ going to the ball. Great analogy, Felicity.

As she drove home, she tried to parse what about this whole situation was making her so unhappy. She didn’t begrudge Oliver this way of healing, and she was happy that Diggle was being included too. Hell, she was happy for Thea and Roy, who’d found their niche, apparently.

“But what about me?”

She winced, and was glad nobody was around to hear her sound like a whiny pre-teen. Grow up, Felicity, she told herself sternly. And anyway, she wasn’t the only person who was being left out, childish as it sounded. Moira Queen was in jail, where she’d be held pending trial. Even though she had the money to post bail, no judge who didn’t want to be run out on a rail would dare offer bail to someone partly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. Felicity didn’t know if Oliver had visited her, but she hoped so.

Back in her apartment, she looked glumly at the Robin Hood poster on her wall. It had been her inside joke, aimed at the world – I know something you don’t! I’m part of something bigger! And now what, she thought, as she poured herself a glass of wine. Now I’m back to being Ms. No-one, I’m here to fix your email, oh, you forgot your password, let me set you up with a new one, and so on. For ever.

Of course, she had Oliver’s number. She could call him. And then what? What had they ever done together which didn’t involve vigilante activities? Sure, there had been that night at Verdant, after that creepy Savior guy who’d nearly killed Roy. That had been real fun. Not the part when Roy almost died, she added hastily. But just kicking back and relaxing with friends. She smiled in reminiscence. She took another sip of her wine and made a decision. She’d give it another few weeks, to see if Oliver was really done. But in the meantime, she wasn’t going to sit on her hands. She’d update her resume, and see if Star Labs was hiring. And why not, Wayne Enterprises too. Sure, Gotham was really far away, and too close to Boston for her liking, but it had been a while. And she was a different person now. She felt much better after she made her decision and drafted a couple of cover letters. Even though there was something else which no amount of cover letters could fix. But she wasn’t even going to let herself consider it. Oliver was so far out of her league it could be measured in light years. And if he had anything left of the Oliver from six years ago, Ms Kalika ‘I am beauty personified, also I am named after the goddess Kali’ Varman was right up his alley.

So she went to work the next day with new determination, as well as a couple of cover letters and resumes that she’d sent to Star Labs and other places she’d always been interested in working at. It didn’t take long for the replies to start filling her inbox – some were refusals, but the biggest longshot wasn’t. In fact, she’d just received a reply from Wayne Enterprises when Diggle walked in one afternoon. She wasn’t sure she’d closed the email in time, but she must have, because Diggle didn’t say anything.

“Hey Felicity, you want to grab a few salads after work? My treat.”

Felicity grinned. He was always trying to get her to eat more healthy.

“A few salads? Really? How about burgers, instead?”

Diggle shook his head, waving his finger at her.

“Cholesterol, Felicity. Heart disease.”

She rolled her eyes. He laughed, and then turned serious.

“Felicity . . . you know Oliver is really busy right now.”

She raised her eyebrows. Oh? Where was this coming from?

“Otherwise he’d try to touch base. He really appreciated that you came to Tommy’s funeral.”

Any number of inappropriate replies almost jumped out of her mouth. How about telling me himself? I thought we were friends. What’s the matter, his texting finger’s sprained? She ended up shrugging, and turning back to her monitor, remembering just in time not to bring up the email window.

“So, Big Belly Burger at six?” she said, smiling at him cheekily.

“Big Belly Burger’s special Chicken Caesar Salad at six, right,” he answered.

They had a great evening and it was just like old times, except Oliver wasn’t there. She managed to stop herself asking endless questions about Oliver – was he trying to push her away again, just like when the Dark Archer put him in the hospital? If so, why? He wasn’t vigilanteing anymore, so what was the point? Couldn’t they be friends outside the Hood activities? But she bit her tongue, and was glad she had. It wasn’t like Diggle was going to say anything against Oliver, anyway.

She was feeling less charitable towards Diggle on the morning, a few days later, when her work access card stopped working. She banged on the glass until security opened for her, and then all they did was take it off her and tell her that Mr Queen was waiting for her upstairs. She guessed ‘upstairs’ meant in the office he used when he was doing his silent partner shtick, whatever that was. But it was a hell of a lot of floors to go in the company elevator, which still had muzak like the dark ages or something, and by the time they arrived at the executive floor, her anger had percolated to a fine pent-up rage, which exploded as soon as she walked through the door the security officer pointed at.

“Are you firing me? Am I fired? Tell you what, I quit!”

Oliver was frantically pointing to his left, to a woman she’d never seen in person, and who was even more beautiful than she looked on video. Oh, great. Ms. Varman. Well, if she hadn’t been fired before, she was now. She glared back at Oliver, refusing to be deflected. And Oliver kept trying to smooth things over.

“Didn’t you get the email from HR?”

Her rage simmered down slightly.

“HR? You mean the people who keep forgetting their password and making me reset it every week?”

Ms. Varman smiled. It was small, and quick, and she tried to hide it, but it was a smile. And she had dimples. Felicity was starting to think she might have misjudged her.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Varman. I shouldn’t have-“

She shook her head, and took one of Felicity’s hands in hers.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d be pretty annoyed if I thought someone terminated me like that. And it’s Kalika, please.”

What? Since when could a lowly I.T. person call the C.E.O. by her first name? She narrowed her eyes at Oliver, who was looking sheepish.

“Your access card didn’t work because you have a new one. We’re giving Applied Sciences an R&D branch in the building, and you’ll be working there.”

Felicity was suspicious.

“As what?”

Oliver gave her one of those intense looks which really worked on her in the past. Ha, not anymore, mister. Though your eyes are really, really blue.

“Anything you want, Felicity. Though you’ll have to divide it with consulting work on cybersecurity.”

He handed over her new access card, and that’s exactly what it said. She stared at Oliver, her mouth open. She knew what had prompted this – Diggle had seen her email from Wayne Enterprises, asking her to confirm an interview date, and must have told Oliver about it. Wow, Diggle was a fast reader. She glanced to the side – Ms Varman was watching their interplay with a pleased smile.

“Oliver, why don’t you show Felicity where she’ll be working from now on? Afterwards we can have a chat in my office.”

Oliver nodded, and strode out, and Felicity had to half run to catch up with him, aiming a half-smile at Ms Varman before she left. She caught up with him in the elevator.

“I can’t believe you let me embarrass myself in front of the C.E.O., Oliver,” she hissed at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I was just happy to get out of there alive, the way you came in.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and he smirked back. Then he lost the smile, and tried one of his intense looks.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant, Felicity.”

She raised an eyebrow, folded her arms, and pointedly turned to face the doors. One thing Oliver had told her was that silence was a winning tactic – and it was true; it often worked on her. Well, not this time. Though she was biting her lip to stop the torrent of words from flowing out.

“I’ve been really busy, what with the business, and Verdant-“

Oh, that could not stand! She aimed a glare at him, and he winced. The elevator stopped at the right floor, and this time she strode out first, though she didn’t know where they were going. Good thing a discreet plaque announced the new Research and Development department. There was a keycard entry, and, after her most recent experience, she was hesitant to try it. But it worked perfectly, and she entered a huge, airy, and well-lit room, with tables scattered around. She could tell that the largest was hers, because all her action figures had been carefully placed on it. It was a bit too well-lit, she thought. She pulled out her tablet, and, muttering under her breath, started taking notes of all the alterations that would have to be made to improve the workspace. Then she walked straight to her desk, noticing it had a much more sophisticated computer system than she’d had down in I.T., and decided to get to work. No time like the present, right? She had a couple of ideas to improve certain software systems the company was using, and as something more tangible, she was dying to get QC into the smart wearables market. Also, she’d starting sketching out an improved face-recognition program, and the trackers she’d used to find Oliver after the Undertaking needed fine-tuning. So maybe he’d never use them again, but she was sure they could be useful and-

A chuckle interrupted her train of thought. Oliver was standing in front of her desk. There was an expression on his face that could only be described as indulgent. She slapped her forehead.

“Oh, I forgot. Coffee with the CEO.”

Oliver smiled at her.

“I think she prefers tea.”

Felicity smiled back, and got up again. She was feeling kind of embarrassed at her outburst now, and put a hand on Oliver’s arm.

“Thank you for the lab, Oliver. It’s amazing.”

“You can’t spend your every waking hour here,” he warned. “I’ll need you to attend some board meetings.”

Felicity brushed it off. Cybersecurity, huh? She could do that in her sleep, and frequently had. She was more intrigued by Oliver’s easy friendship with call-me-Kalika. She looked at him under her lashes as they took the elevator back to the executive floors. When she’d been in the same room with them, there hadn’t been any sparks, though. Maybe she’d been too quick to jump to conclusions before. And what did she care, anyway? It wasn’t like there was anything between them. Even though she still had a little crush on him. Though that wasn’t really it, she mused as they walked back to the office. She did miss watching him go up that ladder thing, she thought, and let herself be lost in a blissful memory of watching the muscles in his back and arms contract and release, managing to hold back a little sigh with some effort. But she also missed the easy friendship they’d built, the times when the night was slow and the three of them would just sit in the foundry and talk while she worked on tuning up her surveillance and monitoring programs while Oliver sharpened his arrows and restrung his bow.

Though, who was she trying to kid. Of course she felt something for Oliver, beyond friendship. And it wasn’t just a physical thing, either. Yes, he was unbelievably hot, and handsome, and when he gave her one of his intense stares she’d probably do anything he asked. But there was more to it. And it was completely pointless. The moment she let herself feel something for Oliver, he’d do something exceptionally dumb, like sleeping with a revenge-obsessed sociopath. And what about the lovely Laurel? They’d been pretty close at Tommy’s funeral.

Kalika Varman was in Moira’s old office, which Felicity had been in once or twice, mostly to deal with software problems and updates. Someone had brought up a tray with tea and cookies, though they didn’t look like any cookies she’d ever seen.

“Come, sit down! Have some tea! Do you like it with milk and sugar, or lemon?”

“Well, I’ve never tried it with milk and sugar,” Felicity said doubtfully.

“You should,” Oliver said, and Felicity looked at him in surprise. He grinned.

“I lived with Walter Steele for a couple of months, Felicity! You bet there was a pot of real English tea at breakfast every morning.”

Kalika smiled. Her dimples were really adorable, Felicity thought.

“My parents are English, originally, but I was born here. Some of my earliest memories involve my dad teaching me how to make a proper cuppa,” she said, while pouring for Felicity, Oliver, and herself. “And I’ve almost persuaded my wife to do the same.”

Felicity’s eyes widened, and she suddenly noticed the wedding ring on Kalika’s left hand, as well as the wedding photo behind her desk, showing Kalika in a beautifully ornate sari and another woman in a wedding dress. They were hugging and looked unbelievably happy. Kalika smiled at her, a hint of mischief in her eyes, and Felicity was pretty sure she’d noticed the way she’d been looking at Oliver.

“I honestly had no idea you were married,” Felicity said.

“Oh, I don’t make a fuss about it,” Kalika answered. “I mean, the business world is still so conservative in part.”

“Yes,” Felicity said, with feeling. “Old white men, think they still run the world.”

Kalika nodded, and they both turned to Oliver, glaring at him. His hands went up in surrender, protesting.

“I’m not even thirty yet!”

They laughed, and Kalika showed her how to make a proper English cup of tea, and explained the biscuits, as she called them.

“How did you and your wife meet?” Felicity asked.

Kalika glowed. There was no other word for it.

“Melissa works for Starling National Bank – she’s a manager. She came in after me, and we just hit it off, you know? I know it sounds like a romcom, but sometimes you see someone and you just _know_.”

Felicity found herself nodding. Yes, she knew exactly how that felt.

For the next month, it was like she was living in a dream – a happy one. She looked forward to going to work every day (well, almost every day), and enjoyed the work once she got there. She’d put her foot down and insisted that she wasn’t going to be anyone’s supervisor or manager, so she’d been asked to choose a team and had made it clear that they’d all be on the same level. And while her team worked alongside her on the projects which were above board, she secretly worked on the crime-fighting stuff – she hadn’t resigned herself to giving up on that yet. In fact, she’d finally managed to pin Diggle down, so that he could help her in secretly refurbishing the foundry. Under the guise of restoring computer networks and internet connectivity, she’d managed to get access to the foundry in the mornings, when Verdant was closed. So she and Diggle had restored their headquarters to its former glory. She even designed Oliver a new bow – a compound recurve with a couple of tricks the old one didn’t have. Now, all the foundry needed was Oliver. But he wouldn’t be persuaded.

Instead, he reminded her of something she’d almost forgotten, accidentally on purpose: the cybersecurity consultant part of her job description. One day a strange meeting had come up on her online calendar – a board meeting with the C.E.O., the V.P. and the board and trustees of some company called Stellmoor International. And when she looked it up, the results were terrifying. It was notorious for manoeuvring hostile takeovers, skilfully put together by their C.E.O., a woman called Isabel Rochev. When she read the name, Felicity felt a stirring in her memory. She’d seen that name before. No, not in Russia. More recently. But all thoughts of it evaporated when Oliver walked through the door of her lab, greeting everyone easily.

He’d been trying to avoid her again, ever since a group of wannabe vigilantes calling themselves the Hoods, had started using his catchphrase and attacking what they called the one percenters. He’d guessed, rightly, that she would urge him to put his own hood back on, and take up his bow again. Or at least, that’s what Diggle told her, when they met for coffees. But even Diggle hadn’t been able to persuade him, not even when they gunned down the mayor. And this was why he’d come to the lab rather than phone or text her – because he knew she couldn’t talk about vigilante business in front of her team. Sneaky Oliver.

“Felicity.”

She’d missed the way he said her name. And he used to say it a lot.

“Did you get the notification about the board meeting?”

“Yes,” she answered, slowly. “I was just going to take a coffee break,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Hey guys, you should take a break too.”

She left the room in a chorus of distracted reassurances, some of them spoken over their shoulders, others mumbled under their breath. The downside of having such a dedicated team was that they never wanted to stop working. She’d get them a round of coffees and doughnuts to go – maybe the smell of coffee would grab their attention.

Oliver seemed reluctant to follow her, until he realised that she just wanted to talk about Stellmoor. Don’t worry, my friend. The vigilante discussion can wait. But it will happen.

“Why are we meeting with them, Oliver? Is the company in trouble?”

Oliver winced and rubbed his eyebrow.

“Kind of. Remember I told you my mom was just the majority shareholder?”

She nodded, and he continued.

“I found out that’s not exactly the case. She had a large chunk of the shares. But she was stripped of her assets when she was arrested, and they were floated on the open market.”

Felicity looked at him in horror.

“And Stellmoor bought them? Can they force a hostile takeover?”

“No. They don’t know that I have almost a majority, and Walter has enough to make it up. So they can’t take over. But they can force their way on the board.”

“So you’ll have to work with-“

“Isabel Rochev, yeah.” He looked puzzled. “Something about that name is so familiar.”

“I know, right?” Felicity wondered, as they made their way to the elevator. There was a Starbucks on the ground floor, and in lieu of a proper coffee shop, she’d take it. Then she remembered what she wanted to ask him.

“Wait a minute, why do I have to be there?”

“The thing is, this is an attack, right?”

Oliver looked at her earnestly, and she nodded.

“And if I were attacking, I’d do it on two fronts – face to face, and sneak in the back door, or the computer networks. I’m going to need you at my side, monitoring our network security.”

“I do that anyway, Oliver,” she said, offended. “I have a couple of monitoring programs in place which will set off alarms in case of any sort of attack.”

He turned to her again, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Felicity. I know you do.”

She nodded, mollified, as they arrived at the coffee shop. They chatted about nothing much for the next hour – she told him about her smart wearables project, and he shared his enjoyment at working with Thea on the club. She noticed him giving her sneaky glances, probably wondering why she wasn’t on his ass about the Hoods. Just you wait, Oliver, she thought. It’ll happen. Isabel Rochev isn’t the only one who knows about sneak attacks.

The day of the board meeting dawned, and Felicity found herself taking extra care with her hair and make-up. She was wearing a short dress and heels, which she didn’t usually wear to work, and she was gratified to notice Oliver’s lingering looks once she strode into the boardroom, her faithful tablet under one arm. Wait a second, she asked herself. Didn’t she just want to get Oliver fighting crime again? Sure you did, her inner voice sniggered. Kalika was already there too, and she went to say hello.

The representatives from Stellmoor strode through the doors exactly on time, and Felicity caught her first glimpse of Isabel Rochev, another impossibly beautiful woman with the body of a supermodel. Or a dancer. But while Kalika was warm and sunny, this woman radiated nothing but thinly veiled contempt. While being introduced, she stared long at Felicity, probably wondering what she was doing there. As soon as they sat down, Felicity’s tablet started to vibrate. As she started checking the various alarms going off, all over her system, she could hardly believe Stellmoor would be so blatant. But when she looked up and saw Isabel’s smirk directed at her, she bit off whatever she was going to say, and concentrated on stopping the attack on the network instead. Not that it was difficult to stop. It was almost as though it had just been a distraction.

When the armed and hooded men burst through the door, it was clear that it had. She stared at them, open-mouthed.

“Oliver Queen! You have failed this city!”

And then they threw Oliver’s words back in his face, and if she hadn’t been in fear for her life, she could have laughed at Oliver’s shocked and yes, insulted expression. But the next few moments were a chaos of gunfire and shouting, until she used the ugly modern centrepiece to bash one of them over the head. Just as she was thinking of quipping something like, ‘I hate modern art’, she realized that she was the last one left in the boardroom, along with Oliver. And a gunman, who was between them and the door. As she heard someone yell ‘Get Queen’, Oliver grabbed her with one arm, grabbed the window-blind chain in the other, and to her shrieks, swung them both out of the impossibly high window. The next few seconds took decades to pass. She was holding on to Oliver tightly, burying her face in his chest, feeling the wind whipping at her hair and catching a glimpse of the street, many floors below. The sound of sirens floated up, and Oliver’s arm was tight around her waist as she clung to his chest. Time sped up again, and they smashed through the office window of the floor below, landing in a mess of broken glass and furniture. She was shaking, the adrenaline running out, and she could only stare at Oliver, dazed, as he checked to see if she was alright.

Felicity zoned out through the rest of the afternoon. She barely managed to answer Lance’s questions, and desperately wanted to get out of there, crawl into a large tub of ice cream and make it her home. On the one hand, she was grateful to Oliver for saving them. On the other, she was pissed off at him – he could have taken those jerks down without turning a hair, but he just didn’t want to blow his cover. He and Diggle were talking intensely, and she’d bet everything that they were arguing about the same thing. Rochev and co. had already stormed out, promising to reschedule, though not before making some snide remarks about the level of security in the building. Kalika and their attorneys, who had also been present, were fine too – Oliver had told everyone to take the rest of the day off. Well, fine then, Felicity thought. No-one needed her? She was going home too.

A flurry of tweets stopped her in her tracks. Oh, no. It couldn’t be. Oliver was looking at his phone, too, and his face was turning grey before her eyes. Thea had just been abducted from Verdant, in front of a packed club. So they went there, where they met Lance again, and after Oliver spoke to Roy, and some of the witnesses, he looked at Felicity and Diggle, and headed towards the entrance to the foundry.

Felicity tried to gauge Oliver’s reaction once she switched the breakers on, and showed him her improvements to the foundry. He looked impressed, but also distracted. Of course, his sister was missing, what was she thinking. She still showed him the new bow, and when he held it like it was already a part of him, she basked in his approval. Then she remembered what he still had to do, and sobered up, tentatively suggesting that he could act differently now. Maybe he didn’t have to kill the Hoods. Maybe there was another way. She wasn’t reassured by his sad answer.

“They took my sister, Felicity. What other way is there?”

Hours later, after she and Diggle followed Oliver’s progress through the Hoods’ hideout, and heard through police radio that he’d only restrained them for Lance to find, saving his sister without bloodshed, they waited for him to come back. She barely held herself back from hugging him when he came in through the alley entrance, shutting it behind him. They only had a normal lock there, and she made a mental note that they needed a camouflaged keypad there too. The three of them exchanged smiles, and Felicity successfully resisted the impulse to say, ‘I told you so’, over and over. Diggle didn’t.

“I told you that you couldn’t keep away from this, Oliver.”

Oliver smiled.

“Yes, you did. But I don’t want to be called the Hood anymore. And I don’t want to be a killer.”

With that he retreated to the inner room where he usually kept his street clothes.

“Felicity? Since when do I have a closet here?”

Felicity yawned, and stretched.

“Since I decided you weren’t going to throw your clothes on the floor anymore, Oliver.”

She could practically feel the eye-roll he aimed at her. She ignored it.

“Anyway, what does that mean, no more Hood? New name? How about Robin of Locksley? Or we could go Scottish – Rob Roy?”

Diggle got into the game too.

“The artist formerly known as the Hood?”

Felicity giggled and high fived him.

“Green leather guy? Or wait, wait, I know! Legolas.”

Felicity was on a roll. Diggle snorted with laughter, and Oliver couldn’t stop himself from laughing either.

“I don’t think I have the hair to carry it off, Felicity. Or the ears,” he said, as he emerged, dressed in his normal clothes.

He’d just put his new bow on its stand when a bang coming from the alley made them all jump. As the door creaked open, it was clear what had happened. Diggle was the first to say it, as he unholstered his gun, and pointed it towards the back.

“Someone shot out the lock!”

Oliver took the bow and nocked an arrow, only to lower it when Laurel stumbled out of the passage, holding a gun in a two handed grip, pointed straight at him. Diggle didn’t lower his gun, though, and tried to get in front of Oliver.

“Put the gun down, Ms Lance!”

She ignored him, staring at Oliver feverishly.

“I knew it!”

Her voice had the shrill edge of hysteria, combined with exhaustion. She looked like she’d been working round the clock, like she’d lost weight through an obsession that had taken over her life.

“You’re the vigilante! And you killed Tommy!”

She fished around in her pockets for a mobile phone, as she kept the gun pointed at Oliver.

“I’m calling it in, Oliver. You’re going to prison for what you’ve done.”

Oliver kept his eyes on her as he pushed Diggle’s gun down, shaking his head as John glared at him.

“Laurel . . . you know I didn’t kill Tommy. You were there when he died.”

Laurel acted like she couldn’t hear him, tapping frantically at her phone, while Felicity cradled her tablet to her, trying discreetly to start her cell phone jammer program without Laurel noticing. She’d set up a couple of routers just in case, but she’d never tested them.

“Why can’t I get through?” Laurel screamed suddenly, and when Felicity looked up, the gun was pointed at her. “You! You did something! Undo it!”

Oh, god. She had two choices here, none of them good. And there was a good chance she was going to die in the next few seconds. She was transfixed by the gun, immobilised by the ugly black barrel which looked so much larger once it was pointed at her. Her whole world was frozen in time, until someone put himself between them.

“No, Laurel. You’re not going to hurt anyone today.”

Felicity could hear the tears in Laurel’s voice as she answered Oliver.

“Ollie . . . get out of my way. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

“Then don’t,” he answered, his voice cracking. “Put the gun down, Laurel!”

Felicity felt her breathing getting louder as the tension in the room increased, stretching her nerves to their breaking point. Her fingers tightened on her tablet as she squeezed her eyes shut, and waited.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all awesome, with your kudos and comments! Thanks so much!

Laurel looked like she’d been on the brink for a long time, and Felicity had never seen her like that before. She was staring at Oliver now, her phone forgotten, but the gun still pointed at him. He moved closer to her, and Felicity wanted to yell at him to watch out, but bit her words back. He knew this woman better than anyone besides her parents, and he’d know how to handle her. She hoped.

“Laurel, you know this isn’t right.”

Oliver’s voice was really soothing. And an octave higher than she was used to hearing it. Was this what he’d sounded like, pre-island? Was she listening to frat-boy Ollie?

“Are you denying that you’re the vigilante?” Laurel asked, waving the hand holding her phone around at the lair, managing to include his suit, his arrows, and the monitors.

“No.”

Laurel stopped, surprised. Oliver continued.

“But I didn’t kill Tommy. You know that.”

Yeah, Felicity wanted to add. You’re the one who killed Tommy, when you went back to CNRI even though everyone told you not to go. But she wasn’t going to say that to Laurel. That would just be cruel. Besides, that gun was really, really scary.

Laurel’s face crumpled up in tears, and her fingers lost their grip on the gun. Oliver managed to catch it before it dropped, and Felicity stared in horror as he slid the safety on. She swallowed hard against the bile that rose in her throat. Laurel could have killed them all at any time. Oliver quickly handed the gun off to Diggle, just in time for Laurel to collapse against his chest, sobbing.

“Oh, god, Ollie, I killed him. I should never have gone back there. He saved me and then the building collapsed! What have I done?”

Oliver was so gentle with her, so understanding; Felicity felt a shameful twinge of jealousy that she quickly suppressed.

“No, Laurel. You can’t blame yourself. If you want to blame anyone, blame Malcolm Merlyn. He wanted to avenge his wife and didn’t care how many people died as a consequence. And now his son is dead.”

“I miss him so much, Ollie,” she sobbed.

“I miss him too,” he said, hugging her, and manoeuvring her towards the exit. He turned towards her and Diggle, and hissed urgently.

“I gotta take her home. You guys ok?”

Felicity nodded, dazed at how quickly Oliver had handled the situation. And Laurel, her mind added snidely. He was _so good_ at handling Laurel. Diggle managed to find his words.

“No problem man. Take care of her.”

Oh, he’s going to, her snide inner voice added, before she told it to shut up. She realised Diggle was giving her little worried looks, and was going to say something reassuring, but she couldn’t bear to hear it. Her sarcastic voice took over her vocal cords before she could stop it.

“Well. That wasn’t awkward at all.”

“Felicity . . .”

She couldn’t bear to look at Diggle all of a sudden. She knew what she’d see in his face – pity, for someone who was never going to be the one to get the guy. Enough. She was going home. She grabbed for her purse blindly, glad she’d driven herself to the foundry when Thea’d been kidnapped. Had that been just this afternoon? It seemed like a million years had passed in the meantime.

“I’m really tired, Dig. See you . . . whenever.”

“Ok, Felicity. Get some rest.”

She nodded without looking around, hoping she could get to her car before the tears came. In the end, she didn’t cry, though she did put her phone in its dashboard holder with unnecessary force. At least she hadn’t cracked the screen this time, she thought. A cheery little message popped up on her phone screen.

_Period just started!_

No it didn’t, she thought. And why the hell are you so happy about it?

The cramps started when she was about halfway home. Great, she thought sourly. A perfect ending to a perfect day. Note to self, delete stupidly cheerful (and useless) period tracker app.

When she got home, and once she’d checked if she was stocked up on tampons and crap (she was), she took two ibuprofen and crashed out, not before leaving a voicemail taking a sick day. She hated doing that on her period, but it was fucking one in the fucking morning, she’d had an endless day, and she needed this.

Waking up at 10am was wonderfully decadent, and she luxuriated for half an hour in bed, before trudging into the bathroom and taking care of business. She groaned when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a grumpy panda. She took off all the make-up she’d left on the previous night, and then she looked pale and washed out. At least some eye make-up would make her feel a little better, she thought.

She’d been so busy for the last month, what with her new job, and sneaking around the foundry, getting it up and running again, that she’d completely lost track. There was no good chocolate to be found anywhere in her apartment. And she’d looked everywhere. No ice-cream either, she concluded mournfully as she stared into the empty freezer. And her apartment was a mess. Pausing only to chug down some more painkillers, she started straightening up, and after an hour of that, realised that she was bored. Maybe she should have gone to work after all? Ah, whatever. Today would be her one and only day of self-indulgence, and then back to the grindstone tomorrow. Besides, if she’d gone to work there would have been foundry duty in the evening, and she hated being on her period and having to use the Verdant bathrooms. There was always a line. Or there’d be impossibly beautiful women talking about all the sex they were having and she wasn’t. Or, on one memorable occasion, a couple actually having sex.

In the afternoon, she sat on her couch, glumly. She’d cleaned up, done all her laundry, and had reorganized all her backup drives. She’d been very determined not to think about the Laurel thing, as she’d named it, all day. It hadn’t been nice of her to be jealous of Laurel, who was obviously having some kind of breakdown, just because she only had to snap her fingers and Oliver would come running. Enough! She needed something to cheer her up. Good old youtube, she thought. After clicking through a couple of old favourites without seeing them, she glimpsed one and smiled. Oh, yeah. Costume drama always cheered her up, and this was one of her favourites. C’mon, Lizzy. Shoot him down. Colin Firth was just starting his speech about how he totes loved her, even though it was against his better judgment and her family sucked, when her phone buzzed and burped. It was a message. From Oliver.

_hey_

Really? “Hey”? Two can play at that game, she thought, and answered.

_hey_

Then she immediately thought she should have waited. Now he’d really think she was desperate. She was just mentally sketching out a program to retrieve sent texts and scrub them, when her phone burped again.

_can i come over?_

What? He wanted to come over? What, here, she thought? How did he even know where she lived? On impulse, she sent over an answer of ‘sure, ok’, and was about to text him her address, when there was a knock at the door. Seriously, Oliver? Of all the clichés in all the bad romcoms, you had to choose that one? Now she was glad she’d put on some makeup. She was wearing her pyjama bottoms, but had a thick sweater over them, so that was ok. She looked through the peephole to be sure, and Oliver’s face swam into view.

When she opened the door, she not only saw all of him, she saw what he was holding – a box of expensive looking chocolates, and a bottle of red wine. She was lost for words, and just gestured for him to come in.

“I made sure there’s no nuts in any of these,” he was saying as he walked in. “And I know you like red wine.”

She was feeling a bit dazed, like there might be a hidden camera crew outside her window. Was she being punk’d?

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, carefully. “I mean, I’m not really sick. I mean, I have-“

To her horror, she realised that the next word out of her mouth was going to be ‘cramps’, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself. Oliver just grinned.

“Felicity. It’s ok.”

“Wait a second, you know?”

Her voice must have been full of horror, because he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“I can read a calendar,” he said. “And you always yell at us for leaving our shit,” he smirked, “all over the foundry around the same time each month.”

Felicity remembered one occasion when she’d raised hell, and she shook a finger at Oliver.

“You brought a motorbike into our living space!”

“It’s a Ducati Diavel, Felicity,” he said, looking at her with big eyes. “And it was raining really hard.”

Felicity shook her head in pretend despair, and made a grab for the chocolates. The box was gold and said ‘Leonidas’ in ornate script. She could barely hold back a moan.

“Belgian chocolate, Oliver? And is that Château Lafite? You are forgiven – for the motorbike, mind.”

She got a couple of glasses and the bottle opener, and started on the chocolates while he poured the wine. Which was out of this world.

He looked like he was going to say something to her, and she was suddenly seized with terror. What if this was all a prelude to telling her he was getting back with Laurel, and he was letting her down gently? She said the first thing that came into her head.

“So, how are you so wise in the ways of women, Oliver? And don’t tell me it’s because you have a sister. You can’t put everything on Thea.”

She snuck a look at him from under her lashes. His face was pensive. She took her chance to snag a couple more chocolates from the box, diet be damned.

“I wasn’t always alone. On the island.”

Felicity looked up, surprised. That wasn’t what she’d expected at all. There’d been a woman with him?

“Her name was Shado. She taught me a lot,” he continued.

The expression on his face was nostalgic and almost rueful, like it had taken him a while to get over the memories, like they were bitter-sweet now.

“You must have been about, what, twenty-two?” Felicity mused. Suddenly a revelation came to her. “You probably said something really dumb, to her, like . . . like . . .”

Nothing sufficiently stupid came to mind. Luckily, Oliver helped out.

“Like it doesn’t matter that it feels horrible because it means she can have babies?”

Felicity covered her mouth in delighted horror. That was even worse than she’d expected. Oliver was trying to look hurt but his lips kept curling into a smile.

“When we sparred, after, she kicked me really hard,” he said, whining slightly. “In the . . . you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Felicity giggled, slapping his hand as he reached for a chocolate.

She couldn’t say that she’d been tempted to kick him in the you-know a couple of times herself. When she next looked up, Oliver was looking at her, and the expression on his face made her breath catch. Was that . . . affection? Or more? Whatever it was, it changed into determination as she watched.

“Felicity, I know I’ve been avoiding you. And it’s not because I want to get back together with Laurel.”

“How did you know – I mean, did Diggle say something?”

He shook his head.

“No. I saw the way you were looking at her, last night. Laurel and I – there’s just so much history there. But that’s all it is, Felicity.”

She swallowed.

“And us?” she said, her mouth suddenly dry, as if in terror of what she’d just heard herself say.

“I . . .” he started, and couldn’t continue. Then he took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I have feelings . . . for you. I’m just . . . afraid.”

She could see out of the corner of her eyes that he was doing the rubbing thing with his fingers and thumb, which meant that he was really nervous. About her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back in relief.

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, Oliver. Step blindly into the unknown.”

His eyes grew even more intense, even as his lips curved in another smile.

“Now who’s the wise one?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon eating chocolates and drinking wine. He told her that Laurel had been doing research about everything that seemed off to her, not just the vigilante – she had boxes of files and photocopies in her car.

“I’m not saying there’s anything there, but you never know,” he was saying, when his phone rang. He looked at the caller and sighed. “Sorry, gonna have to take this.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” There was a pause, and he answered whoever was on the other end. “No, the passcode has to be accessible from the inside only. Along with an actual lever to disengage the lock in case of a malfunction – look, I’ll be there in ten minutes, I’ll go through the plans again.”

Felicity looked at him open mouthed – what was he doing? He grinned, looking boyish.

“I’m having a panic room built on the boardroom floor.”

She nodded slowly. That was actually a pretty good idea. Oliver went on, his voice simmering with suppressed anger.

“What happened yesterday – that was unacceptable.”

Felicity nodded again.

“Yeah, about that. How did it happen? How’d they get in without security spotting them?”

What she was thinking dawned on Oliver.

“You think we have a mole?”

He slapped his forehead.

“Of course we have a mole. But on whose payroll? I mean, Isabel Rochev is involved somehow, but is she pulling the strings?”

Felicity shrugged. She stretched and yawned. All that wine was making her sleepy. Oliver was looking at her, like he’d forgotten why he’d gotten up. She grinned.

“Don’t you have to go somewhere?”

“Yes!”

As he walked towards the door, she remembered something.

“Hey, you never told us what your new codename was going to be.”

He came back and bent down, whispering it in her ear, and she shivered at having his lips so close to her. After he left, she realized that she hadn’t felt the cramps for a while – red wine and chocolate, huh? Who knew?

The next day, driving to work, she thought about Oliver calling himself the Arrow now. It did fit, she thought. Though it was kind of phallic. But she hadn’t told Oliver that. She walked into the R&D department carrying a bag of bagels and another bag of coffees, and wondered that everyone seemed really quiet, until she saw who was waiting for her. Kalika was there, looking solemn, though she smiled widely when she saw Felicity.

“Good morning! Can we talk somewhere in private, Felicity?”

Felicity swallowed. For a second she had a flashback to earlier times, and wondered whose email had gotten hacked, then she shook herself. That wasn’t her anymore. She ignored everyone’s vaguely pitying looks, and ushered Kalika into an inner room, closing the door.

“Is this ok?” she asked, wondering what was wrong, and why they couldn’t use the C.E.O.’s office.

Surely that was private enough? Kalika seemed to be reading her thoughts.

“I can never be sure that someone won’t burst in with very important information that can’t wait,” she said, rolling her eyes slightly, “and after what happened recently, I’m not sure who can be trusted. Except you, of course.”

They sat at a desk, and Felicity was just on the verge of bursting out with a million questions, when Kalika brought out her smartphone and played a video. It started with a glass window on an office building shattering, followed by a man and a woman swinging out of it, Tarzan and Jane-like, only to swing back into the building through another window. The video had zoomed in on their faces – or rather, on the man’s face. So the woman could have been any tiny blonde. But the man was recognizably Oliver Queen. Felicity put her head in her hands and groaned.

“There are cameras everywhere, Felicity. Someone is always filming something. Though Oliver’s handled that admirably in his other line of work,” Kalika added, pensively.

Wait a second, what? Other line of work?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felicity stuttered, making sure that she aimed her words at the listening device she was suddenly convinced Kalika was wearing.

“Why are you talking to my chest, Felicity? Oh I see! No, I’m not wearing a wire!”

Felicity decided to take control of the situation.

“Is that on youtube? Don’t worry, I’ll have it scrubbed within the hour. I honestly don’t know what you mean, Oliver’s other job, you mean Verdant, right, ha ha . . .”

Kalika grabbed her hand.

“It’s ok, Felicity. Please don’t panic.”

She looked her deep in the eyes, and Felicity felt herself calming down. But Kalika wasn’t finished yet. It took her a while to get started, though, with hesitations and false starts slowing her down a little.

“When I first started working at Starling National Bank, I was . . . perhaps a bit naïve, for someone who worked in finance. I thought we would just be focused on work, you know. I kept my personal life separate. I didn’t tell anyone that I’m a lesbian.”

Felicity couldn’t keep the words in.

“It’s no-one’s business!”

“No, it isn’t. But that isn’t how the world works, unfortunately. There was this other intern, a man my age. He would ask me out, every day. My mistake was trying to let him down gently, I suppose. But I said no, every time. And the next day he would ask me again.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she bit her lip. Felicity could already see, more or less, where this story was going.

“After a few months of this, I went to HR for help, but the woman I happened to see was a friend of his, and she just suggested I go out with him once.”

Felicity felt the rage rising in her at that.

“Anyway, one day we had to work really late. The auditors were in, and it was all hands on deck, till about eleven. Then, when I went to the parking garage, my car had four flat tyres.”

“Let me guess, creepy intern guy offered you a ride home.”

Kalika nodded.

“I shouldn’t have accepted, but it was so late, and I was so tired. And tired of saying no. It was a few minutes before I realised that we weren’t going to my apartment. He parked the car in an alley.”

Now it was Felicity holding Kalika’s hand, trying to transmit comfort through the pressure in her fingers.

“He was so angry that I’d refused him. All he wanted was a date, he said. He just lunged at me, trying to kiss me, while I pushed him away and tried to get out. And then-“ Kalika smiled, remembering, “and then the arrow came smashing through the side window, pinning his sleeve to the dash.”

Felicity smiled at Kalika, who had tears in her eyes.

“I managed to get out of the car, and he was there, this hulking figure all dressed in green, like Robin Hood. He punched Roger out, and then waited with me until I found a cab that would actually go to the Glades. He didn’t say anything, even after I thanked him. It was later that I found out about the vigilante they were calling the Hood.”

“He wants to be called the Arrow, now,” Felicity blurted out, and then wanted to slap herself.

“Not that I know that. I mean, how would I know that? I must have seen it online.”

Kalika smiled indulgently.

“When Walter asked me to take a meeting with Oliver Queen, in light of becoming QC’s C.E.O., I was reluctant at first. Why would I possibly want to work for some spoiled playboy, whose mother had just been implicated in such a destructive act? And then I met him. And I knew.”

She made a gesture towards her own face.

“His jawline, you know. It’s very distinctive.”

Felicity slumped.

“I . . . you know I can’t just-“

“I know! And I don’t want you to worry about me! I just want to do what I can to repay what he did for me.”

With that she got up, her eyes twinkling merrily.

“I have to go now; your colleagues will think I’m firing you!”

Felicity took a decision faster than she had ever done.

“Kalika!”

“Yes?”

“Don’t trust Isabel Rochev.”

By her expression, Felicity could tell that wasn’t what she had been expecting.

“Never be on your own with her – I . . . I mean we . . . there’s something about her . . . it’s hard to explain.”

Kalika nodded slowly.

“I must agree that she’s even more unpleasant in person than she comes across on paper. And she implied I only promoted you because I was having an affair.”

“With me?” Felicity squeaked.

“As if!” she continued, scoffing. “Your wife would kick my ass.”

Kalika smiled and shook her head, and walked out, almost bumping into Oliver, who was on his way in.

“Hey, when you have the time, I need to go through the operation of the panic room.”

Kalika nodded, and they fixed an appointment for later, and Oliver looked at Felicity quizzically.

“Something wrong?”

Felicity stretched in the chair and yawned, trying to work out the kinks in her back. When she looked back at Oliver, the expression on his face was unreadable. He was biting his lip, though.

“Oh, nothing much. Just your Tarzan stunt the other day going viral. And Kalika _knows_.”

She hissed the last in a whisper. Oliver didn’t get it. The little wrinkle between his eyebrows grew more pronounced.

“Knows what?”

Felicity rolled her eyes, and, making sure that they were really alone, mimed pulling a bow-string. His eyes widened. Wow. They were really, really blue.

“Felicity!”

Shit, she’d zoned out there for a few seconds.

“Apparently you saved her from some office rapist? In a parked car? Is any of this ringing a bell?”

He was nodding his head, slowly.

“That was about a week after I came back. I was kind of messed up.”

She gave him an ironic ‘you think?’ kind of look, and smirked.

“I saw everyone as a target. Or as a weakness.”

“Oh? What changed?”

“I went to get my laptop fixed.”

A week passed with very little weirdness interrupting their daily routine of work during the daytime, and foundry duty at night. They rescheduled the Isabel Rochev meeting, and she managed to crowbar herself into Queen Consolidated, though not in the powerful position she’d wanted. And then, just when she thought that Oliver was going to be foiling bank robberies and armored car heists for the foreseeable future, the new Applied Sciences building was broken into and the industrial centrifuge stolen. It got even weirder when the security footage showed that some guy had just picked it up and walked away.

“How is that even possible?”

Oliver sounded more irritated than he should, but probably that was because of some Central City CSI guy who had beaten them to the crime scene. Felicity had to hide a smile – Oliver was so territorial sometimes. Like a cat. She didn’t know why though – this Barry Allen seemed pleasant enough. And he certainly knew what he was talking about.

“Well, uh. We’ve been tracking similar crimes back in Central-“

“Yeah, we got it,” Lance interrupted. “I still can’t believe it was just one guy.”

Barry was scraping at the ground around the base of the centrifuge, having clearly decided to ignore what was being said.

“If there’s somewhere I can set up my equipment, we could find out what the thief,” he looked up at Lance, and rolled his eyes, “or thieves tracked in with them, and where their base of operations is.”

Lance offered him the crime lab at Metro PD, and Barry accepted.

~

“What’s wrong?”

They were driving back to QC, and Oliver had noticed that Felicity was mentally kicking herself.

“Oh, nothing much. We should have offered the Applied Sciences building – that way we could have kept an eye on him. Now how will we know what he found out?”

Oliver nodded.

“The thing is, the building is a crime scene. No way Lance would have let him set up there. We’ll track the police radio when they find the guy.”

They should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy, though. Especially when Barry traced the thief to an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district, and in the time it took Oliver and Diggle to get there, four cops, including Lance, were badly injured. The place was full of ambulances and crime scene techs, but no Barry Allen, strangely enough. Just as she was wondering where he was, her phone buzzed. It was a text containing the address of yet another storage facility, this time one full of medical supplies. She forwarded the text to Oliver, and it didn’t take too long for him and Diggle to get there.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Oliver’s modulated voice sounded more pissed off than usual. She realised why when she heard Barry Allen answering him, or rather, not answering him.

“Holy . . . you’re the Hood! I never thought I’d meet you, even though you’re based in Starling City! I always wanted to ask, how come you wear green in the city? It’s no good for urban camouflage. Oh, and a mask would be much better to, um, mask your identity, ‘cause that greasepaint isn’t doing much. I mean, your jawline is pretty familiar . . .”

“Why are you here, Allen?”

Now that was why Oliver was the vigilante, and she wasn’t. She would have gotten into a discussion on the symbolic nature of green, and that the mask would do nothing for his peripheral vision, which was already kind of hampered by the hood. Then Barry’s next words filled her with horror.

“Do you know Felicity Smoak? Otherwise, how did you find me? The cops went to where he is now, while I found another place he stole from, and I only told Felicity about it.”

“Listen, kid,” Oliver started, and then his tone changed. “Get down!”

There were sounds of a struggle, and then nothing.

“Oliver? I mean, Arrow? What’s going on?”

Felicity felt like she was losing her mind.

“We’re fine, F- . . . we’re fine. That thief came back and wanted to steal something else.”

To her relief, she heard Barry’s voice next.

“I’m fine, Felicity. I know it’s you.”

Diggle came on the line.

“Hey, _Arrow_ , you better get out of there. Cops are on the way.”

“Yes. We can take Mr Barry Allen with us. He’s got some explaining to do.”

She heard Barry’s protests grow fainter as he seemed to realise that he was going to see the Hood’s lair, as he called it.

When they all trooped down the stairs, Felicity could see that Diggle, for one, was not happy.

“You could have asked me before you let someone else in on the secret,” he was saying, while Barry was just looking around him, amazed.

Oliver just sighed and put his hood down, turning off the modulator and folding his arms as Barry stared at him.

“I knew it! I mean, I had narrowed it down to about a dozen possibilities, but you were pretty high on the list. That’s why the green! I get it now.”

Oliver rolled his eyes.

“The reason why I brought him here is that Barry has his own agenda, something he won’t want to share with his boss, who has no idea he’s in Starling City, much less working on a case off the books. So Barry will keep quiet, and we won’t get him fired, or worse, arrested.”

Barry opened his mouth and closed it again. Wow, Felicity thought. Mr Motormouth at a loss for words.

“Ok, you got me. I took some leave, because I keep an eye out for crimes which can’t be explained.”

Felicity had done some research about Barry, and knew about his mother’s murder, and that he kept insisting his father was innocent.

“But Barry, this guy just has superhuman strength, not superspeed, which is what you saw when your mother was murdered.”

Barry nodded, shame-faced.

“So, where is our superstrong thief now?”

Barry brightened.

“I found another location which he tracked in on his shoes. Can I be in on the bust?”

“NO!” Oliver and Diggle yelled in chorus.

Oliver continued in a more normal tone.

“There isn’t going to be a ‘bust’. Nothing I used on him worked, normal arrows, trick arrows, nothing holds him or hurts him.”

Diggle grinned.

“I might have something. Remember when we took down that ex-army gang last year?”

Oliver nodded.

“They’d walked off with some ordinance they’d never bothered to return, and I just left it where it was. Now, the cops tried guns, and they didn’t work. But did they try a shoulder-fired missile?”

Oliver and Barry beamed. Felicity sighed. Boys.

An hour later, Felicity and Barry sat in the foundry, listening to Oliver and Diggle try to talk down, and eventually, take down someone who’d brushed aside four cops without breaking a sweat. Maybe I should put miniature webcams on the comms, she thought. I hate this audio-only version. In the end, it was Diggle who took the shot, and she was secretly glad Oliver hadn’t killed anyone. She knew how much his vow to stop killing meant to him.

Later, they all sat in the foundry, sharing a case of beer Oliver had brought down from Verdant.

“So, I bet there was nothing left of whatever he was planning once you shot the missile at him?”

Oliver shook his head.

“There wasn’t much left of _him_. Anyway, the centrifuge wasn’t there. Probably he’d already sold it or delivered it to whoever was pulling strings.”

Barry stretched and got up.

“Better get going, or I’ll miss the last train to Central.”

“I forgot, you wanted to catch them turning on the particle accelerator, right? I wanted to watch that too.”

Barry shook his head, yawning.

“Oh, no, I got a text from a buddy at Star Labs. They’re having problems with something, so they’ve pushed the date back a while. No, I just think I’d better go home while I still have a job.”

Diggle got up.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the station. See you tomorrow, guys.”

Felicity got up, too.

“Good luck for tomorrow, Oliver.”

Oliver looked blank for a second, then nodded in recognition. Moira Queen’s trial started in the morning. He squeezed her shoulder and went to change out of his leathers, and Felicity started switching the monitors off. It had been a long day.

~

Three weeks later, Moira’s trial was still progressing slowly. Felicity went as often as she could, whenever proceedings continued in the afternoon. Oliver was too busy supporting his mother in court to take part in any vigilante activities. Ironically, Barry had crafted the perfect mask for him once he was back in his lab in Central City, and sent it by mail. Oliver hadn’t worn it once.

In the meantime, Laurel had been visiting the foundry pretty often. The first time, she came to apologize to Felicity and Diggle, for holding them at gunpoint. She looked much better than she had that night, Felicity thought. The second time, she brought along boxes of files she’d obtained illicitly, when she was going on her investigation spree after Tommy’s funeral.

“Wow.”

Felicity didn’t know where to start.

“Yeah.”

Laurel looked a bit shame-faced.

“After I realised that Oliver was the vigilante, I started seeing conspiracies everywhere.”

Felicity understood that. Her first year in Starling City, there’d been so many times she was convinced that the Bratva had found her.

“You’ll never believe it,” Laurel continued. “My boss, the D.A., wanted me to be co-counsel, prosecuting Moira Queen!”

Felicity stared at her in shock.

“Is that even possible? Granted, my knowledge of the law is all from reruns of Law and Order, but I’m pretty sure that’s a no-no.”

Laurel nodded.

“It is. But the D.A. really can’t stand the Queens – I think he lost it for a few days there. I managed to get the judge to put her foot down. Of course I couldn’t prosecute. Anyway, I came because of something else.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows.

“I wish Ollie would tell Thea about being the Arrow – I always feel bad when she asks me for stuff that he could deal with much better.”

Felicity was really lost now, and Laurel noticed.

“See, you know Roy.”

Felicity nodded.

“He knows a few people who live on the streets, and lately they’ve been dropping out of sight. And yes,” she said, stopping Felicity who was taking a breath to speak, “I know it’s a high risk way of life. But maybe there is something weird going on. They all have one thing in common – they spoke about going to get free flu shots. It’s a new City initiative for the homeless.”

“That’s Alderman Blood’s baby, right?”

Laurel nodded, blushing slightly, and Felicity knew, without asking, that Sebastian Blood was in one of the boxes of files currently stacked up in a corner of the foundry.

“But what, these people are just turning up dead, like because of drug overdoses or something?”

“That’s the weird part,” Laurel continued. “Some of them are turning up dead. The others are just vanishing.”

Huh, Felicity thought. Isn’t that how _Salem’s Lot_ started? Laurel was still talking.

“Thea and Roy came to me because they thought my dad could sneak out a couple of autopsy reports. But even if dad hadn’t been hurt going after that crazy PCP guy, he just doesn’t have that clout after being busted down to uniform. And now Ollie’s caught up with the trial, and I think something weird is going on.”

Diggle was too busy right now, dealing with all the vigilante stuff in Oliver’s absence. Felicity had a brainwave.

“We could investigate, right? I mean, if nothing’s happening, then no harm done. If something’s going on, then we tell Diggle or we get Oliver onto it.”

Laurel brightened.

“That’s a great idea!”

So, for the next week, they followed up the leads Roy and Thea had given Laurel, who even managed to sneak into the morgue and take a couple of pictures of an autopsy report. Though that wasn’t conclusive, Felicity thought. Weird though. The homeless teen had died of a stroke, or of something with stroke-like symptoms. Was there something in the flu shot that people were reacting badly to? And if so, why wasn’t it showing up in the autopsy?

“Ok, so we know a bit more than we used to.”

Felicity was sipping her fifth coffee of the day, feeling slightly jittery. Laurel was stretching in a chair next to her, yawning.

“Till now, all the homeless people who’ve vanished or turned up in the morgue have been male, not older than thirty, and any ethnicity. So, what’s going on? Experimentation?”

“What about the mobile flu-shot vans?” Laurel asked, even more sleepily.

“They just vanish into thin air. If I only could get inside one of them,” she said wistfully, taking another sip from her cup. Which was empty again. How’d that happen?

The news channel ticker, which she’d left on the main monitor on mute, caught her eye.

_Verdict on Moira Queen trial expected within the hour!_

Felicity stared at the screen, stunned, just as Laurel’s phone erupted in a flurry of tweets. She looked at Felicity, who rolled her eyes.

“Go, Laurel. Moira and Oliver will appreciate seeing you there.”

Laurel smiled, gratefully, and clattered up the stairs. Felicity wished she could settle down to some work, but she was pumped full of fake energy thanks to the caffeine circulating in her bloodstream. But she was still going home. She needed some rest, and if the verdict was bad, Oliver would need her support. The investigation would have to continue tomorrow.

She had to walk further than usual to reach her car. There had been roadworks near where she usually parked, and other streets had been cordoned off. It hadn’t been a bad walk in the daylight, but now the alleys were creepy and full of shadows. There wasn’t even the soothing light show coming from Verdant – Thea had decided that for the last week of the trial, it was best for her to seem as respectable as possible. Her heels sounded really loud in the deserted alley, but she could see her car in the distance.

What was that? There was a sound like a rattle behind her, but when she turned to look, there was nothing there. When she turned back, she walked into someone who hadn’t been there a second ago. He was tall, and blond, and wore a big smile. Nothing about that information was reassuring, allied with the slightly manic look in his eyes.

“Well, hello, love. In a hurry?”

She shoved her hand in her purse, and found the reassuring cylindrical shape.

“I have pepper spray!”

That could have been more forceful, she thought. He put his hands on his chest in an exaggerated motion of surprise.

“Oh, dearie me! Whatever will I do? Wait a second,” he said, putting his hand in the pocket of his long black coat. “I have a gun!”

He pointed it at her, gesturing towards her purse.

“Hand it over.”

She practically threw it at him.

“Take it! Take it all. I don’t have any money.”

He rummaged in her bag, the gun not wavering one millimetre.

“You know that if you move an inch I’ll shoot,” he said, almost conversationally.

She shuddered. What did he want, if not her money? He pulled her work access card from her bag and grinned, like a shark.

“Well, well,” he said, throwing the bag back at her. “Queen Consolidated. Why would some techie be looking into my special project? You’re not homeless, are you?”

He got up close and sniffed her hair.

“I thought it was Sebastian Blood’s project. You’re not him,” she quavered, trying, and failing, to sound like she was in control.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards her car, keeping the gun firmly pushed into her side.

“No, I’m someone else – the Count. You’ve probably heard of me.”

“What, the drug dealer?”

She cringed slightly as the words slipped out before she could hold them in. That’s right, Felicity, insult the crazy guy holding the gun.

“Not any more, darling. I’ve a higher purpose now. A new boss. No more Vertigo for me – it’s something else. Something . . . shall we say . . . miraculous.”

He made her drive to Queen Consolidated, and use the elevator from the parking garage to Oliver’s temporary office on the executive floor. She shuddered as he tied her wrists to a chair, and stroked her hair and her arms.

“Don’t worry, my love. You’ll be feeling much better soon.”

A sob slipped out, and she immediately bit her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But he was scrolling through her contacts, or was it her message history?

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver . . . hmm. Having an affair with the boss, are we?”

She just glared at him.

“Now this message is nice and cryptic - _if you have time when court is in recess, barry sent a mask. he promises it’s ok for your peripheral vision_ ; smiley face, winking face . . . “

He must have seen the horror on her face, as his was suddenly full of glee.

“A mask? Peripheral vision? Oh, what a naughty girl you are, Felicity Smoak. Let’s call him, shall we?”

Listening to the Count phone Oliver was perhaps the most humiliating experience of her life – not only had she got herself caught by this lowlife, she’d unmasked Oliver. She was too lost in her misery to try and hear what Oliver’s answer was, and ignored the Count when he hung up and started taunting her again. She shuddered as she felt his hands on her shoulders, and just as he started stroking her face, she heard footsteps in the corridor. She knew Oliver was letting himself be heard on purpose.

Oliver came into view, in the Arrow suit, holding his bow, his quiver at his back. He gave her a glance, and his eyes were reassuring.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Arrow. Your little sidepiece here told me all about it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Felicity protested, torn between tears and anger.

“Felicity, it’ll be fine.”

Oliver was trying to sound reassuring. It wasn’t working.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr Queen. Your mother’s earthquake destroyed my business operation. If I hadn’t been found by my new boss, who knows what might have happened. And he hates you more than I do. In fact, maybe I’ll do him a favour right now.”

Quicker than Felicity was expecting, the Count pulled his gun out and took a few shots at Oliver. She was terrified for a few seconds, worrying that he’d hit Oliver, until she heard his voice.

“Your problem, your boss’s problem is with _me_. Let her go!”

The Count pounced on her, dragging her off the chair, and putting a couple of syringes to her neck.

“You should have thought of that before you sent her to investigate our work! But don’t worry, this will make her feel so much better. If it doesn’t k-“

Time slowed down as three arrows flew past Felicity in a group and buried themselves in the Count’s chest. He dropped her and stared down at himself in disbelief, before falling over like a felled tree. Suddenly, her legs turned to jelly, and she sat down, hard, on the floor. Oliver seemed to appear in front of her in a crouch, cradling her jaw, gently, staring into her eyes. His lips were moving, but all she heard was a buzzing noise. There was the smell of blood in the air. Oliver’s shoulder was bleeding.

“You’ve been shot!” she exclaimed weakly.

Oliver smiled at her, and squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s nothing. Felicity, are you ok?”

She nodded, even as she felt the tears collect in her eyes. Now the adrenaline was draining away, and she couldn’t stop shaking. Just as he was checking her wrists, which were abraded by the zip cuffs the Count had used, Diggle came storming in, gun drawn.

“It’s ok, Diggle. We’re fine.” Oliver gestured towards the dead man on the floor.

“Meet the Count.”

“The drug dealer?”

Felicity and Oliver nodded. She spotted the syringes on the floor.

“He said he wasn’t pushing Vertigo anymore. That it was something different.”

He’d used another word to describe it, but in all the excitement it had completely slipped her mind. Oh, well. It’d come back to her later. Finding out what was in the syringes was more important, she thought.

“We can send it to Barry – he can analyse it.”

Oliver’s face darkened slightly.

“I bet he can.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. What was that about? Diggle smirked, and then sobered up.

“Oliver, you gotta go, man. The jury say they might have a verdict. I’ll clean up here and take Felicity home.”

Oliver nodded, and turned to go. Felicity couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Oliver, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I got caught by this creep. You had to kill him. I know you never wanted to have to make that kind of choice again.”

He was shaking his head even before she stopped speaking, and he gripped her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes.

“Felicity. He had you, and he was going to hurt you. There was no other choice to make.”

As he looked into her eyes, Felicity could feel herself melting. Now. This would be the moment for a kiss. Except . . . Oliver had to go. She sighed, and pulled back slightly. She knew he had a couple of business suits stashed here. She smiled at him, her lips trembling.

“Go change, Oliver. You don’t want to miss the verdict.”

Lying in bed, wide awake, hours later, she wished Oliver was there so she could glare at him. After he’d changed, he’d had some advice for her. Get some rest, he said. Go home, he said. Well, she was home, and she couldn’t sleep. In the hours since her near death experience, she’d been driven home, had heard about Moira Queen’s not guilty verdict in the car, and had a long hot shower. And now she was wide awake. And starving. Before the fricking Count picked her up (and who the hell called himself the Count, anyway? Ah, ah, ah . . . three! Three drug-filled syringes!) she’d been about to get herself something to eat. And then with all the excitement and sudden death she’d lost her appetite. Well, it was back now. She looked at her mobile – no wonder she wasn’t sleepy. It wasn’t even midnight. She was used to spending much longer at the foundry.

Fine, she’d order in. She hadn’t had sushi in ages.

Some time later, looking at the bags on her coffee table, she sighed. No wonder people said you shouldn’t go food shopping when hungry. The same counted for ordering delivery, apparently. She could eat a little, and put it in the fridge for later. Or she could see if Oliver was hungry. Wait a second, where had that come from? Oliver was probably fast asleep right now. Sure, her mind thought cynically. The guy who once spent all night patrolling the streets, had come to the foundry, taken a shower, and gone straight to QC was tucked up in bed right now.

She rolled her eyes. What makes you think he’ll come, Felicity? Sure, he said he has feelings for you. Maybe they were platonic feelings. Like he has for his grandma. Or his sister. She looked at her mobile. It looked back at her, taunting her. Ok, inanimate device. You win. It’s 2013, and I’m allowed to text a guy first. And if he doesn’t answer, or worse, lets me down gently, it’ll be your fault. Now . . . what to write.

_hey_

Great, Felicity. Very eloquent. Truly you are a poet of our time. Her phone buzzed with a reply.

_hey_

Her face felt hot. He’d answered! Now what?

_are you awake_

_of course you’re awake, you answered me_

_i mean, feel like doing something?_

_not like that- omg someone erase these texts_

_are you still there?_

Oliver’s reply came immediately.

_yup couldn’t answer laughing too hard_

Felicity giggled. Then she tapped a reply.

_was so hungry, got too much sushi, wanna share?_

_sure, i’ll get some beer_

It worked! He was coming over. Oh shit, she probably looked like crap, she thought, as she raced for the bathroom mirror. She stared at herself critically – her hair was fine, as she’d washed and blow dried it before going to bed. All she needed was some eyeliner and mascara to look less washed out and tired. Her tank top and pyjama pants would do – she didn’t want this to seem too obviously like a play. Though play your cards right, Oliver, you just might get lucky. What am I saying, she thought. You don’t even know if he wants this. She’d finished her eyes, and was still arguing with herself, when there was a familiar knock at the door.

Oliver was carrying a sixpack of beer in one hand, and his motorcycle helmet in the other. He was in jeans and a sweater, and looked amazing. Geez, Felicity, slow your roll. He walked in and laughed as he looked at the sushi display on her table.

“I told you I ordered too much,” she pouted.

“I’ll say.” He grinned at her. “Good thing I’m starving.”

They settled down and he opened the beers, and they made serious inroads in the food. She kept up a steady prattle, asking him about his mom (ok, tired, seemed kind of down, which he thought was weird, considering the situation) Thea (over the moon), and himself (fine, Felicity, stop worrying). She noticed he got strangely quiet when she mentioned how dumb she’d been to take a full shower and wash her hair and still expect to fall asleep after.

“Felicity.” His tone was strained. “Why _did_ you take a shower before bed?”

“I . . . felt like it, I guess?”

What was he getting at?

“Did the Count . . . did he hurt you?”

There was something she wasn’t getting, here.

“The zip cuffs were really tight and hurt my wrists, but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking . . . oh. _Oh!_ ”

It dawned on her, and she grabbed Oliver’s hand, looking him right in the eyes.

“No, Oliver, seriously. He didn’t . . . I mean, he was kinda handsy. So maybe I did want to wash him off . . .”

Huh. Felicity hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself before, how much his touch had bothered her. Oliver’s eyes were like lasers focused on her.

“He touched you.”

She looked at him, mesmerised.

“Yes.”

His eyes darkened.

“Where?”

Oliver’s voice was a low rumble at this point. His face was slightly flushed.

She swallowed.

“My hair.”

Oliver carefully pulled the elastic band off her ponytail and released her hair over her shoulders, drawing his fingers through the strands. She shivered as he gently carded his fingers through some tangles.

“Where else?” he asked, slightly hoarse.

“My shoulders,” she whispered.

He trailed his hands over her shoulders, and down her arms, and to her shock, bent his head and dropped the softest of kisses on each one. He looked at her, expectantly. Her mouth was really dry now, and her lips were stiff as she continued.

“My . . . face . . .”

This time, he started with the kisses, light, almost imperceptible, on each cheek, pulling back and staring at her, until she nodded, and he dropped the last one on her mouth. It started softly, at first, until she responded, and opened her mouth. He was holding back, she could tell, so she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and the kiss immediately became more heated. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, feeling daring, and his arms went around her waist, lifting and pulling her into his lap. They kissed for what seemed like hours, but probably wasn’t that long. She could taste the beer in his mouth, and the food they’d shared, and another taste, something she couldn’t place at first, something like . . . like . . .

“Coffee?”

She pulled back and stared at him. He flushed, avoiding her eyes at first.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?”

He shook his head in denial.

“No! I really wanted to see you, Felicity.”

He stared at her, intense as ever.

“Really wanted to see you,” he murmured, as he dropped kisses along her neck, along with a little nuzzle that turned into a big nuzzle that she was sure was going to leave a mark.

“But you had to drink something to keep awake,” she tried to argue, except he was hitting all the right spots. She was literally aching for him, she realised, and blushed. He pulled back and sighed, and then dropped another kiss on her mouth. He looked apologetic, and she realised what was wrong. Or rather, different, from the last time she’d been on top of him like this.

“Felicity, I’m sorry-“

“Come on, Oliver. You’ve been shot! Of course you’re not . . . up to . . . you know, right now.”

He nodded, still looking embarrassed.

“And anyway, I didn’t invite you over to jump your bones. I just wanted to know if your feelings for me were like for your grandma, or something.”

Oliver crinkled his forehead.

“Jump my bones?”

“It’s how the kids talk nowadays, Oliver. Keep up.”

She tried to keep a straight face, but had to laugh when he started tickling her. He kissed her again, rubbing his stubble against her cheeks until she squealed. Hours later, or maybe it was just a couple of minutes, they started yawning in synch, and she pushed Oliver back on her couch, cuddling up to him, settling her head on his chest.

“Can you sleep here?” she murmured, half asleep herself.

“Sure,” he answered. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

The last thing she thought she heard before she fell asleep was Oliver begging her never again to mention his grandma when they were making out, and she smiled as her eyes closed. This was officially the best night ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The youtube clip which cheers Felicity up is from the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice (1995), with Colin Firth as Mr Darcy, and Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth Bennett. 
> 
> This is his first proposal of marriage:
> 
> "Miss Elizabeth. I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past months have been a torment. I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you... I had to see you. I have fought against my better judgment, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth by rank and circumstance. All these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony."
> 
> It always cheers me up when she shoots him down so quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your kudos and comments, I treasure them all!

When Felicity woke up the next morning, she wasn’t sure where she was. Ok, she knew she was in her apartment, but why was she on her couch? And whose heavy arm was keeping her pinned to his side? Slowly, last night’s events started coming back to her, and she carefully lifted her head. Yep, that was Oliver next to her. She snuggled into his side, trying to stop herself from wondering what it all meant – she was going to live in the moment. This moment.

The flurry of knocks at her front door shocked her out of her daydream. The effect it had on Oliver was extraordinary. In two seconds, he became a blur of movement until the man who’d been fast asleep, snoring slightly, was crouched over her, wild-eyed, with a knife pointed at the front door.

“Hey, Felicity! Are you there? Oliver isn’t at home, I can’t get him on his cell, and any minute his mom is gonna wake up and ask me where he is.”

Oliver’s expression didn’t change. She touched his face, carefully, and his eyes focussed on her.

“Oliver. It’s ok. It’s just Diggle.”

He blinked a couple of times, and visibly untensed, carefully climbing over her to stand beside the couch. He looked at the wicked looking knife he was still holding, and sighed.

“Where’d you keep that?” she asked, curious.

He smiled at her.

“I have an ankle holster,” he explained, as he slid it back in place.

Diggle knocked again.

“Dammit, Felicity, not you too!”

Oliver quirked an eyebrow.

“Better answer the door before he knocks it down. Uh . . . can I use your bathroom?”

Felicity gave him a look.

“Do you even have to ask?”

She stretched as she stumbled towards her front door, which Diggle was attacking again.

“Ok, ok, I’m coming, jeez.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Felicity felt guilty when she opened the door – Diggle looked really worried.

“Listen, it’s ok. Oliver’s here.”

Immediately a pleased grin broke out on Diggle’s face, and it grew even wider when Oliver emerged from her bathroom.

“Congratulations, you guys! I’ve been telling that boy to get his head out his ass for weeks.”

Felicity blushed. Oliver looked smug. Diggle looked a bit regretful as he continued.

“I hate to break up the party, but his mom is gonna wonder why Oliver isn’t there for her first morning back. Unless you want to bring Felicity along and make it official!”

Oliver beamed, and started to answer, just as she shook her head, unable to stop the chorus of noes that came out of her mouth.

“I’d like to stay alive a bit longer, Oliver.”

Oliver rolled his eyes.

“My mom isn’t like that.”

He looked at their sceptical faces.

“Ok, maybe she is. But she’ll love you, Felicity.”

Sure, Felicity thought. That’s what every high-society lady wanted for her handsome billionaire son – the daughter of a cocktail waitress from Las Vegas. Better still, a company employee. But she managed, for once, to keep her thoughts to herself.

“Oliver. She’s just been in prison, for months. Let her get back into the flow of things before you spring this on her.”

Oliver nodded, reluctantly, and then took her by surprise, wrapping her in a bear hug, kissing her deeply.

“I have to go.”

He was still holding on to her, though. She didn’t want to let him go, either, but he was right. Diggle took charge.

“I got you your warm-ups and running shoes – I’ll take you to the gate and you can pretend you were out for a run.”

Oliver nodded and squeezed her hand, before reluctantly letting go.

Felicity was a bit puzzled, though.

“Digg? Uh. I thought you weren’t driving Oliver around anymore?”

Oliver gave Diggle a knowing look. Diggle sighed.

“Yes, Oliver. You told me so. The thing is, Felicity, I thought we’d ease her into all the changes. And anyway, Oliver, _you_ were the one who thought she might start hiring new bodyguards if she found out about my change of job.”

Oliver raised his hands in surrender, and turned to Felicity.

“I’ll see you later, tonight? At the foundry?”

She smiled and agreed. Thank god it was Saturday, and she didn’t have to rush off to work.

Felicity spent the rest of the day relaxing, watching old movies, and wondering what Oliver was doing. Wow, you’re kind of pathetic, Smoak. Stop pining.

That evening, she went to the foundry as usual, and this time, she managed to park much closer – and if she got a ticket, she thought mulishly, Oliver could pay it. She knew he was already there, as she’d spotted the Ducati parked around the corner from the alley-way entrance. When she went down, Oliver was already wearing the Arrow suit, but was sharpening a few arrows, which she was pretty sure he’d already sharpened. A lot. So maybe he’d been waiting for her, she thought. He smiled when he saw her, but then turned serious.

“Felicity, what did the Count mean when he said I sent you to investigate his project? “

Ooh. Shit.

“Uhh. We’ve been working on something? Some strange disappearances among the homeless community?”

The wrinkle in between his brows furrowed even more.

“Who’s we?”

“She means me, Ollie.”

Laurel was walking down the stairs from Verdant, looking apologetic and defiant at the same time. Oliver’s face darkened.

“You two are in over your heads – you nearly got killed,” he said, pointing at Felicity. “You should have told me about it.”

“Your mom’s trial . . . you had enough on your mind,” Felicity mumbled, even though she realised he was right.

Oliver came up to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Promise me you’ll tell me before doing something like this in the future. I almost lost you.”

The last words were whispered, but Laurel’s face changed. She’d heard. Felicity couldn’t tell from her expression what she thought of the whole thing, and right now, she had other problems.

“I promise,” she said, meeting Oliver’s intense stare.

He touched her face and gave her a half smile.

“Now, where’s this mask you’ve been texting me about?”

Felicity grinned and did a little fist-pump.

“Yess! I knew I’d wear you down! I don’t know what you have against Barry, he’s such a nice guy . . .”

She rummaged in the drawer she’d put the box in.

“And I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, so stop it.”

When she gave him the mask, he looked at it sceptically at first. He put it on, and made a few sudden turns to the left and right, and then put the hood on, and did the same.

“It’s good, Felicity. Really great.”

Felicity beamed. She’d thank Barry – later though. Oliver was being kind of weird about him.

After he left, she finally had the courage to look at Laurel, who was smirking at her.

“You don’t know what he has against Barry, who’s such a nice guy?” she scoffed.

Felicity was puzzled.

“Yes, I don’t get it. I . . . wait a second, you’re saying he’s jealous?”

Laurel smiled.

“He’s got it bad, Felicity. I can tell.”

Felicity blushed, and sat down in front of the monitors. To be honest, she’d been pretty nervous about Laurel’s reaction, but she seemed ok with it.

“So, we still don’t know what was killing the homeless kids,” she said, wanting to get back to business. Strangely enough, all the crime-fighting was less messy than their personal lives.

“But if it was in the syringes the Count had, I sent those to Barry this afternoon. He’s a good chemist, so he should find something out pretty soon.”

She lifted her head. Had that been a snort from the corner where Laurel was once more rummaging through the Great Wall O’ Boxes? She turned in her chair and glared at her.

“I don’t know why Oliver feels threatened – I’ve been crushing on him for a year.”

Laurel looked at her, smiling.

“Just kidding, Felicity! And Ollie knows how you feel – it was probably just that you and Barry have so much in common.”

“Ok, fine. I get that. But Oliver’s the one I – the one I want to be with.”

She turned again and looked at Laurel.

“Is that ok? With you, I mean?”

Laurel got up and approached with a file.

“Oliver and I were over a long time ago, Felicity. How did you two meet, anyway?”

Shit! Felicity was stumped for a few seconds. Laurel must be a pretty good lawyer; that question had snuck up out of nowhere.

“Uhh – he had a laptop full of bullet-holes he needed information from.”

She remembered something that Oliver had told her later on, and grinned.

“You know he actually told me he spilled a latte on it? And that his coffee shop was in a bad neighbourhood?”

Laurel giggled.

“That’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Felicity sighed in relief. She’d bought it. Oliver would have to be briefed too – she didn’t feel ready to talk to anyone about Russia yet. Maybe she never would.

Laurel had decided to investigate Sebastian Blood, as their only other lead, the Count, was now dead. Oliver wasn’t too happy about it, especially as Roy was insisting on being part of the investigation. He’d earned a special alleyway visit from the Arrow for that. Oliver made sure Roy got the message – no ‘civilians’ in the investigation. The last thing he needed was Thea being involved in the vigilante business too. Afterwards, when they checked in with Laurel, she said that Roy had been so star-struck by the one-on-one conversation with his hero, that he didn’t even mention Oliver’s request.

While all this was going on, Felicity had plenty of time to mull over her night with Oliver. Well, it hadn’t been a night, _night_. They’d made out a lot, and had literally slept together, but there hadn’t been more. Now, whenever Felicity came into the foundry, she’d get a kiss from Oliver, rather than just a significant look. And to be fair to Oliver, he’d tried to organise a proper date, but ever since his mother had been found not guilty, the paparazzi had developed a sudden interest in all the Queens. Felicity had to laugh. He’d been so proud of his new boring persona – the only nightclub he’d been seen at was his own, and even then, he’d been letting Thea take over more and more of the running. He’d been careful to keep his presence at Queen Consolidated really low key too. That reminded Felicity of something she’d been wondering about.

“How’s your mom dealing with not being C.E.O. anymore? Didn’t you say she wanted to come back?”

He had mentioned it a few months ago.

“Yes, she did. Which is why as soon as I heard the verdict, I contacted Walter to persuade her not to.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows. Oliver shrugged.

“We’ve just managed to get the company back from the brink. We had some people poll the general public, and there were plenty who thought the verdict was bullshit. We’re also fielding a number of civil lawsuits brought by relatives of the victims. There’s no way she can go back to being the figurehead of Queen Consolidated – but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.”

“But what is she going to _do_ , Oliver? I’d go insane without my work, and your mom loved her job.”

“Walter said he had a few ideas – he even mentioned a political career. I decided I don’t wanna know.”

Felicity smirked.

“That reminds me – I haven’t looked at your daily TMZ report!”

She quickly pulled it up, and there they were – Moira, Thea, Oliver and Walter, walking into Table Salt for brunch. Moira looked gracious and serene, ignoring the paparazzi’s yelled questions. Oliver would have looked unreadable to anyone who didn’t know him, though she knew how to read him now. He was seriously pissed off. Walter looked calm, and Thea was suppressing rage.

“What did you have to do to Thea to stop her from yelling at them?”

Oliver sighed. He’d been rubbing his eyebrows.

“I told her I’d take Verdant back and ban her from the premises.”

She softened.

“Listen.”

He looked at her, his eyes full of hope. And another emotion, which she wasn’t keen to examine.

“Tomorrow Kim Kardashian will buy a new dress. Or Beyoncé will release a new surprise album. And no one will follow you guys around anymore.”

Oliver nodded.

“Mom decided we were going to eat at home for the foreseeable future. I wanted to throw a party, but everyone shot me down. And you’re shaking your head.”

Felicity cocked her head to the side. How was she going to say this?

“Oliver, you said yourself that there’s people with doubts about the verdict. And anyway, what if you do throw a party, and no-one comes? That would hurt your mom a lot.”

Oliver agreed, reluctantly. Then he brightened.

“So, we’re going to be meeting for lunch tomorrow.”

He was holding her hand, and he squeezed it.

“You could come.”

They were alone in the foundry. Diggle had gone home, and Laurel was having dinner with her dad. Oliver pulled her closer and an innocent kiss turned into something deeper until she felt breathless and her ears were ringing. He pulled her into his lap, and she wound her arms around him, and just as she thought she might be getting lucky tonight, there was a flurry of activity on the police scanner. They both turned to look at the monitor.

“Bank robbery downtown. Ugh.”

She must have sounded really dejected, because Oliver quirked a smile, and kissed her again.

“Listen, I’ll take this one, and you’d better go home. It’s late, and you have work in the morning. And don’t forget that meeting with the investors, when is it, the day after tomorrow?”

She groaned.

“Do I really have to be there?”

Oliver nodded, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, before grabbing his bow and heading out through the alleyway.

The next day passed without incident, though without meeting Oliver at all. She’d gone to the foundry as usual, but halfway there had received a text message from him – his mom was expecting to spend the evening at home with him and Thea. She felt like sending a grouchy text back, wondering when his mom was going to get a hobby. Or a boyfriend. Instead, she spent five minutes drafting the most supportive, cheeriest text she could think of. Diggle ended up handling all the vigilante stuff, thought the night was strangely quiet.

She’d set up three separate alarms for the next day, each reminding her that she had the meeting with the investors after five, so she’d have to be all gussied up for it. But she’d definitely keep her high heeled sandals in her bag – she couldn’t spend all day in them. And she was glad she was wearing her flats when she got a calendar alert that the meeting had been postponed to next week. Though she was still pretty enraged that she’d spent the whole day in a flirty dress, rather than comfortable pants and top. As five pm rolled around, she decided she was out of there – and she hadn’t got any texts from Oliver all day. She wasn’t even sure they were on for foundry duty tonight. As she stood in the corridor, looking at her phone, wondering what to do, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. It was Kalika.

“Hi . . . um . . . did we have a meeting?”

Oh god, had she forgotten something? Was the cancellation a mistake?

Kalika smiled, her dimples cheering Felicity up instantly.

“No, no . . . nothing like that. Oliver asked me to give you this.”

She handed over a key card, the kind that looked like a hotel door key.

“Queen Consolidated has an apartment in the East Wing – he wanted you to meet him there.”

As Kalika gave her directions, Felicity wondered what was going on. Was this going to be their new lair? Was the foundry compromised? Surely doing all Arrow business from QC was much too close – there were so many security cameras here, all it needed was one stray glimpse of the Arrow exiting the building, and comparing all the men of the same height who had entered before.

Felicity wondered about all these things as she wandered off to find the apartment, and only got lost once. The door looked unassuming – like a normal office door, at the end of a long corridor. Except the handle was made of ornate brass, and the key slot was hidden away behind a fancy looking brass plate. She slid it through and opened the door, and was too shocked to move.

She was in another world, separate from the ultra-modern, glass and steel office building she’d just walked through. The lights were out, but there were bowls of candles everywhere, casting pools of flickering light which led her to the end of a short corridor. One or two of them must have been scented, because there was the gentle hint of sun-dappled meadow in the air. She walked along the corridor, dazed, to reach a main room which was decorated in the same way – lots of drapes and candles and silk cushions on a divan which probably functioned as a bed.

There was a low table with an open bottle of wine and two glasses, and leaning against the window, which replaced the entire outside wall, was Oliver. He must have been wearing his good suit for the meeting, but he’d taken the jacket and tie off. He was smiling at her, but there was a hint of nervousness about him. It was already dark outside, so he looked like he was floating on a sea of bright city lights.

“Oliver – this. This is . . . amazing.”

He beamed, and walked up to her, taking the card and her bag from her nerveless fingers. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her.

“You like my surprise?”

“Yes . . . it’s . . . for me?”

His eyes grew dark with longing.

“Yes, Felicity. Only for you.”

She wanted him, she realised. Badly. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. She wound her arms around his neck, and pulled him down to her, practically attacking him until his tongue plunged into her mouth. She could feel how badly he wanted her as he pulled her up, winding her legs around his waist. He pulled back and smirked.

“No wine?”

“We can have wine after,” she hissed.

He carried her over to the divan and deposited her on it, his eyes heating up as he looked at her, sprawled out, her skirt riding up to show the tops of her thighs. He took his shirt off slowly, and her mouth went dry as he threw it aside, impatiently, before joining her on the bed. His hand slid up her thigh, and she caught her breath as he went ever higher, until he stroked her arm, and cupped her breast. She couldn’t wait any longer, and quickly turned to the side to let him get at her zipper, pulling it all the way down. She felt shy, suddenly, when she turned back to him, and he must have seen it in her eyes.

“We don’t have to-“ he started, and she didn’t want to let him finish.

She let the top of her dress fall to her waist and he swallowed, forgetting whatever he wanted to say. She thanked whoever was watching out for her that she’d chosen to wear her one and only matching set of lingerie, and got up on her knees to pull the entire dress over her head and throw it to the floor. Then she climbed into his lap, cradling his face.

“Oh, yes we do.”

His hands were all over her – on her ass, her breasts, as he kissed her deeply. She could feel his hard cock through his pants, and managed to undo his waistband while they were kissing. She pulled away.

“Condom?”

He nodded, practically throwing himself to the side table, and pulling one out. She took the opportunity to quickly unhook her bra and take it off, giving a sigh of relief as her breasts bounced free. She looked up at him to see him transfixed by her chest, and she couldn’t hold back a giggle. He looked up at her face and smiled, lying next to her on the bed. She grabbed his hand and put it on her breast, and he gasped, stroking her gently, tracing the red lines left by her bra. She was squeezing her thighs together, aching for him, and was just about to tell him to get on with it when he dropped his head to her breast, licking and kissing the places he’d just stroked.

“Oh! Oh god, Oliver . . . “

They started kissing again, and at the same time, Oliver deftly hooked his fingers into her panties and drew them down her legs. He pulled back, looking at her intently.

“Is this ok? Am I going too fast?”

A feeling of tenderness grew inside her for this bruised and scarred man, who was so gentle with her, who treated her like she was made of spun glass. She cradled his cheek in one hand and kissed him.

“No, Oliver. Not too fast. I want you.”

He closed his eyes, face flushing, and nuzzled her neck, stroking the tops of her thighs. As she let her legs fall open, she felt a moan against her skin, and she put her hand over one of his, guiding his fingers inside her. She knew he’d feel how wet she was, how ready for him, and shivered with anticipation. He slid two fingers inside her, his thumb on her clit, and started circling them, slowly at first, then speeding up as he saw her flush and shudder. She couldn’t believe that she was coming already – usually it took her a while to get there, but looking into his eyes, clinging to his chest, she was already there. She cried out as she came, her thighs shaking, and when she came down, he was looking at her with such tenderness in his eyes. She swallowed, and glared at him, reaching behind her for the condom.

“It’s not just about me, Oliver! Put it on!”

He smiled, almost shyly, and got up to take his pants off. She lay sprawled out on the bed, knowing exactly what effect she was having on him thanks to the heated glances he was giving her as he undressed. And it was even clearer when he stood in front of her, naked, hard cock curved up towards his belly. Felicity was sure her mouth fell open, because, wow. She’d kind of wondered, that time when he’d saved her from the fire, and now she knew. He kneeled on the bed, and seemed to see some apprehension in her face. Just as he was probably going to ask her again if she was sure, she latched onto his neck and pulled him down on top of her, spreading her legs as wide as she could. He slid inside her, slowly, and she gasped as he stretched her wider than she’d been used to, lately, lifting one of her legs onto his shoulder, so that he could get even deeper. Oliver paused, biting his lip.

“You ok?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he croaked.

“Oh god, don’t do that,” he begged, as she started giggling.

“Sorry, sorry,” she murmured, stroking his shoulders.

He started moving inside her, slowly, taking his time. She was overpowered by him – acres of warm skin surrounding her, the bulk of him, inside her, on top of her. She felt like she was drunk with it, pleasantly buzzed after her orgasm. She noticed how he bit his lip every time he thrust home, and realised he was trying hard not to come too soon. Suddenly he lifted her other leg over his shoulder, changing the angle so that every time he grazed her clit as he thrust, and she squealed and whimpered helplessly as his every thrust set off fireworks in her head. She grabbed onto his shoulders as he started a rhythm, filling her relentlessly, until she came a second time, and he wasn’t long behind, gasping, saying her name, over and over, and finally groaning as his hips slowed down. He collapsed in the cradle of her hips, trying to stay on his elbows so as not to crush her, and in those blissful post-orgasm seconds when her inner muscles were spasming on his still hard cock, whispered something in her ear.

Oliver breathed heavily as he levered himself off her and collapsed by her side. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. He quickly got rid of the condom, and pulled up a blanket to cover them both – she hadn’t even realised that she’d started shivering. He was stroking her hair and smiling at her.

“You ok?”

She couldn’t even answer him.

“It’s what I said, right?”

How could he read her so well? She nodded, still unable to speak. He just went on stroking her hair, his expression unchanging.

“I meant it. It wasn’t just the-“

“Orgasm?” she interjected.

“Yeah, that,” he said. “I love you.”

Oh god. He’d said it again. How come he was so eloquent, and she was speechless? Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way round?

“You don’t have to say it back, Felicity. I just wanted you to know. This isn’t just . . . nothing, to me.”

He started kissing her face again, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, her eyelids. She couldn’t hold back a yawn, and he laughed.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered.

She wanted to stay awake, to discuss this, what it meant, but dozed off in the middle of trying to work it out.

Felicity woke up in stages – at first it was almost impossible to keep her eyes open, but after a couple of false starts, she managed. The light around her was muted and flickering, but the candles were still lit, so she guessed she hadn’t been asleep for long. She was pleasantly sore, her muscles ached, and she smiled a little at the memory of how she got that way. Then she frowned. Oliver wasn’t next to her. Had he left?

She lifted her head up – no, there he was, sitting in a large armchair, staring out the huge window at the lights of the city. He’d told her once he still had some trouble sleeping. She obviously hadn’t tired him out enough, she thought. She’d better fix that. She wasn’t even going to drive herself crazy over what he’d said – she needed to examine her feelings about Oliver first. It wasn’t something she’d expected.

She got off the bed as quietly as she knew how, and opened the drawer Oliver had gotten the condom from, snagging another one. She wanted to be self-confident enough to just sashay over there stark naked, but cringed at the thought, so she grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around her like a toga. Her sexy walk to the window was spoiled by tripping over the trailing sheet, and swearing a little. When she looked up, Oliver was smiling at her, and holding out his hand. When she joined him, she realised that he clearly wasn’t self-conscious about nudity. Why should he be, right? He was gorgeous. His smile widened.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, Felicity.”

Felicity blushed.

“Did I just call you gorgeous out loud? I did, didn’t I? I don’t know if you noticed, but I tend to babble a lot, especially after mind-blowing sex with a Greek god who’s got an enormous -“

This time she managed to stop herself with both hands over her mouth, though she’d clearly said enough. Oliver was looked half embarrassed, half pleased with himself. He pulled her into his lap, and started tugging the sheet away, and she pretended to hold on to it, as he nuzzled and kissed her neck and breasts. She gave up the fight for the sheet, and straddled him, latching onto his mouth and they kissed for a while. His thumb was getting busy with her clit, and she moaned into his mouth as he started thrusting inside her with his fingers. She pulled away and found the condom which had gotten tangled in the sheet and waved it at him. He grabbed it from her and put it on fast, and she lowered herself slowly onto his cock, biting her lower lip as she bore down. There was a slightly stunned look on his face as she bottomed out and started riding him, ever so slowly, keeping a steady rhythm. She held onto his shoulders as he rubbed her clit until she came, whimpering his name, and gasping nonsense babble into his neck. He wrapped his arms tight round her and thrust up a couple of times, groaning into her hair. She shuddered as she came down, and stroked his back, kissing his chest. She climbed off his lap and snuggled up under his arm, and they watched the lights of the city grow brighter as the night darkened.

It was three in the morning when they left the apartment, trying to walk while holding hands and kissing. They went to her car in the parking garage, as he didn’t trust himself on the bike, and drove her home. They kissed some more in front of her apartment, and then he sighed and pulled away.

“I can’t stay.”

Felicity nodded.

“Though I could tell my mom I was staying at my girlfriend’s place.”

Felicity shook her head, eyes wide.

“No, no- wait.” She grinned. “I’m your girlfriend!”

Oliver’s smile was probably as wide as hers.

“Yes, you are.”

She wound her arms about his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. She still wasn’t ready to come clean to his mom, though, and managed to persuade Oliver that it wasn’t the right time, yet.

The next few weeks seemed to pass in a dream, for Felicity – a frequently X-rated dream, she thought. She’d like to blame it on Oliver being insatiable, but it wasn’t like she was any better. And because of his mom’s recent clinginess, her work, and vigilante duty, they often had to snatch a couple of minutes in between one crisis and another.

Particularly memorable was the time Diggle went home early, to meet his ‘contact in ARGUS’, and Oliver had come back to the foundry after every single alert resulted in the cops handling it before him. He’d stalked in, practically vibrating with pent-up adrenaline, and she’d stared at him for a few seconds, before launching herself at him, her legs curling around his ass, forcing him to catch her. His eyes had heated up behind his mask, and his cock had hardened instantly.

“Don’t I even get to change?” he asked innocently.

God, he has so much self-control, Felicity thought. I feel like my skin is on fire and he can still make small talk.

“Not if you want to fuck me,” she said.

She actually felt his cock twitch against her, and smirked as he had to close his eyes and bite his lip. He walked them to the table where he sharpened his arrows, pushed them to the side, and deposited her on it. His eyes widened behind his mask as she showed him the condom she’d put in her bag that morning. She unzipped his pants and put it on him, while he got busy getting rid of her panties. A ripping sound made her frown up at him.

“Oliver! I liked that pair!”

His skin flushed as he pushed up her knee and slid inside her with a moan.

“I’ll buy you a new pair . . . oh god . . . I’ll buy you fifty . . . “

She whimpered as he started thrusting, and wrapped her legs around his ass to pull him deeper, every thrust making her nerves jangle with pleasure. He kissed her neck and caressed her breasts as he used his fingers to bring her off. She wailed as she came, and he paused, his head hanging as he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. When he opened them again, the wicked look in them made her shiver. What was he planning? He pulled out, holding on to the condom carefully, and turned her around so that she was standing on tiptoe, bent over the table. As she held on to the edge, he pushed up her knee, opening her up to him, and slid inside her again, deeper this time. He draped himself over her back, his fingers on her clit once more, and started thrusting. The table rocked with each thrust, arrows rolling around and falling off, and when she almost slipped, he curled one arm around her waist and supported them both with the other, as he nuzzled and gently bit at her neck.

She was falling again, crying out as she came, and this time he followed her, groaning through gritted teeth as his cock twitched inside her.

They collapsed on the floor, out of breath, and she turned to him, unbearably happy. He was smiling too, and as she pushed his mask off, he crushed her in his arms, burying his face in her hair.

Once or twice they had a mini video conference with Barry, who was busily working on whatever the Count had left behind. Barry sounded even more hyper than usual, probably because he’d been forced to take some time off by his boss.

“It’s really interesting – doesn’t seem to function like a drug at all. Not like a mood altering drug anyway. “

He then rattled off a series of numbers, letters and chemical components which she guessed would mean something to her if she was a chemist. Which she wasn’t. He hadn’t stopped talking.

“See, it seems to be designed to increase strength but also aggression, which doesn’t make sense. And there’s some stuff there I can’t make any sense of. But I’m getting there, you guys.”

Barry was starting to sound manic, and Felicity was worried. She looked at Oliver, to see if he noticed it too, and was transfixed by his expression. It was like he was lost in a memory for a second, then shook it off as she watched. She turned to the screen instead. She’d ask him later.

“Hey, Barry. Barry.”

He stopped the long and technical explanation he was giving of all the chemicals in the syringe, and Felicity shuddered at the thought that it had almost been injected into her.

“You need a rest. You can continue afterwards. Go home. Get some sleep.”

As if her words contained some spell, Barry yawned.

“You’re right, Felicity, as always. I’ll call you when I have something.”

He signed off, and Felicity noticed that at some point, Oliver’s hand had landed on her shoulder, almost possessively. She sighed.

“Oliver. Are you jealous of Barry?”

He had that fake innocent look in his eyes, but she only needed to cock her head to one side to get him to own up.

“Maybe? A little? Or I was, until . . . “

Felicity blushed.

“Until?” she asked.

He smiled down at her, his thumb rubbing her neck. He bent down, kissing her softly, deepening the kiss as she wound her arms round his neck. They both heard the locks disengage and pulled apart, reluctantly, as Laurel and Diggle came down the stairs. They seem to be making more noise than usual, Felicity thought. She giggled, and whispered in Oliver’s ear.

“I think they’re afraid of catching us in the act.”

Oliver smirked, and kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m pretty sure Digg found some of the arrows on the floor the other day,” he murmured. “You know.”

Oh, yes. She knew alright. They managed to straighten up and disengage in time, and even though Laurel raised an eyebrow, and Diggle rolled his eyes, no one said anything.

Sometimes she wondered if they were moving too fast, that they’d burn out if they went on like this. Though when she did, it wasn’t her mother’s voice she heard, urging caution. It was her own. She smiled ruefully. Mom wouldn’t have said that we’re moving too fast, she thought. Her reaction would have sounded more like ‘woo hoo!’ She was sure a ‘you go girl!’ would have been in there somewhere too.

Thoughts of her mother reminded her that it would soon be Hanukah, and when Oliver came over, he found her digging out her menorah and preparing candles. She actually only had two left, and made a mental note to buy a box. She explained the meaning behind the ritual to him, and a sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her, as she remembered being shown how to light the candles as a little girl.

“I don’t think mom was religious, really. And I don’t think I am, either. Except we used to do these things together, and now that she’s gone-“

“You do them to be close to her,” Oliver said, nodding.

He was staring into space, and she knew, intuitively, that he was thinking about his father. He’d told her his father had shot himself on the lifeboat, so that there’d be enough water for Oliver. He hadn’t told her what happened after. She squeezed his hand, hoping she was reassuring him.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” he began, and then stopped. “I don’t even know if you want to hear it.”

Felicity looked at him, trying to convey support in her eyes.

“Anything you want to tell me, Oliver, I want to hear. ”

Oliver sighed, and leaned back on her couch, but held on to her hand.

“When I landed on the island . . . my dad . . . I had to bury him.”

Felicity nodded, hoping she was hiding the horror she felt – she tried to imagine Oliver at twenty-two, essentially still an overgrown teenager, having to deal with that, alone.

“It felt like the hardest thing I ever did. It still is, I think. I didn’t even know how to do it right. I just put him under a pile of rocks, at first.”

He tried to shrug casually, even though she could see the tear slipping out of the corner of his eye.

“Those first weeks, months on the island, I didn’t have time to deal with it, so I just pushed it aside. I mean, sure, I had hallucinations of him, but that was just because I was starving, I guess.”

Felicity nodded, her horror growing. Now she realised why Oliver hated talking about those five years.

“And after Lian Yu, I was always on the run, always going from one crisis to another – if I stopped, I was dead.”

She nodded, again. She knew how that felt, on a smaller scale.

“But coming back home – it was like I finally had time to think. And at first I thought if I just did what he asked, I’d feel better . . . closer to him.”

He shook his head, as if to say it hadn’t worked.

“Turns out it was all for nothing. All I did was make things worse.”

Felicity squeezed his hand tighter. She hated hearing Oliver beat himself up like that. She cradled his cheek, and made him meet her eyes.

“You did your best, Oliver. No-one could have done any better with the information you had. More people would have died if you weren’t there to stop Malcolm.”

He tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him. She cradled his face in her hands, willing him to believe her. He bent his head, trying to hide his tears.

“He wasn’t perfect, Felicity. But I miss him, I miss him so much . . .”

She rubbed his back as he cried on her shoulder, and that evening they just slept, exhausted, too drained to do more than exchange chaste kisses before they dropped off.

The day when it all changed, Felicity had been working late. One of the projects she and her team were juggling hit a roadblock, and they all stayed on to hammer it out. Afterwards, Felicity was exhausted and had eye-strain from looking through hundreds of lines of code, but she’d promised Oliver she’d go to the lair, no matter how late it got.

The foundry was empty when she walked in. Everything was on, though, so she put on her headset, and immediately jumped, as machine gun fire blasted her eardrums. Once it died down, she tried a tentative greeting.

“Um. Oliver? Guys?”

“Hey, Felicity,” Diggle said. “Finally made it?”

“Are you ok?” she asked, worried about Oliver.

“We’re both fine,” she heard Oliver say, and felt instantly better.

“We’re all done here, should be back soon. Is there anything new? Do we need to stop somewhere on our way back?”

Felicity looked at the monitor – the police scanner was quiet tonight.

“No, I can’t see anything. Seems to be fine here. Verdant’s up and running though, better come through the alley.”

The security cameras she’d set up inside Verdant covered the dancefloor and the bar, so she had a clear view of anyone who preferred to spend the night drinking.

It was a slow night. There was only one man at the bar, in a business suit, drinking clear liquor. As she looked at him she felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was something familiar about him. Something horribly familiar. Oliver was saying something, but his words were obscured by a growing buzzing in her ears. She whispered, almost to herself.

“There’s someone here.”

Felicity took off the headset slowly, as if in a dream. After she’d met Oliver in Starling City, he’d told her more about the people he’d worked with, in Russia. So she knew their names, now. Their faces, on the other hand, were burned into her brain. And sitting at the bar, in Verdant, a few metres above her head, was Anatoli Knyazev.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos!
> 
> This is kinda short - others will be longer.
> 
> As before, the dialogue in italics is in Russian.

This wasn’t happening. Oliver knew he should do something, keep moving, fix this somehow. But instead, the ridiculous thought kept running through his brain. This wasn’t happening.

“Felicity! Talk to me!”

Oliver was standing just outside the warehouse they’d just cleared of gun-runners, who were tied up, in various states of consciousness. The sound of sirens was getting louder, but his feet were nailed to the ground as he said her name, over and over. He was shaken out of his fugue as a van screeched to a halt inches from him. Diggle kicked open the passenger door.

“Come on, Oliver! Let’s not get arrested today!”

Diggle drove like a maniac until they reached a darkened alley a few streets away, then he stopped, abruptly. He was saying something about Felicity, but Oliver couldn’t focus on it.

_There’s someone here._

Her last words to him kept echoing in his head.

“Hey! Oliver! C’mon, man, snap out of it!”

Oliver managed to focus, just as a buzzing sound came from the back of the van. That was his mobile, he realised, and vaulted to the back, suddenly desperate. When he grabbed it, and saw her texts, he lost hope again. He had no idea what she meant. Diggle snorted impatiently.

“Gimme that,” he said, as he grabbed the phone out of Oliver’s nerveless fingers.

“So. Three texts.”

Then Diggle hesitated. Oliver gave him a sardonic look. Not so easy, huh?

_9 1 1_

“That’s pretty straightforward-“ Diggle began.

“Yes, I know that,” Oliver interrupted. “It’s the others I’m having problems with.”

_verdant_

“No, I get this,” Diggle said. “She means, go in the club, not down to the foundry.”

“And the third one?” Oliver wondered.

_Oliver Queen_

“I know my name,” he continued.

“No, no, you’re not getting it.” Diggle sounded excited, and Oliver couldn’t blame him. If Felicity was setting puzzles for them, she wasn’t hurt. Or kidnapped. Or . . . worse.

“She means, you have to go to Verdant as Oliver Queen – not the Arrow.”

Oliver nodded in agreement.

“I have a suit here. And I’m sure there’s one of yours here too.”

Diggle grinned.

“And I’m back to being your bodyguard. Man. Black driver never gets a break.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. He knew what Diggle was doing. He just couldn’t compartmentalize like that anymore. It was _Felicity_.

They arrived in front of Verdant twenty minutes later, and parked in an alley. Just as they were about to walk up the stairs, Diggle put a hand on his arm.

“Didn’t Felicity put an app on your phone to access the security cams inside Verdant?”

Oliver groaned internally. Of course. He’d been about to walk into a potentially deadly situation completely blind. He got out his phone and tapped impatiently on the icon Felicity had installed, and immediately the cameras started cycling. As soon as the one above the bar came up, he knew. His veins filled with ice-cold water as the man drinking vodka – what else could it be – grinned up at the hidden security camera like he knew it was there. His face must have shown something, because Diggle reacted immediately.

“Who’s that guy, Oliver? Is that who she meant?”

Oliver could feel himself growing colder as he spoke.

“That’s Anatoli Knyazev. He was my boss when I was a Captain in the Bratva.”

Diggle was nodding, slowly.

“So. What now?”

Now he had to become someone else, Oliver thought. He had to get back there, the way he was in Russia. It wasn’t going to be easy.

“Now you have to follow my lead, Digg. Completely. No matter what I say or do, you can’t argue or even say anything.”

Diggle looked mutinous, at first. Oliver wished he could explain everything to Diggle, that there were rules in the Bratva, and that he couldn’t have someone who Anatoli’d see as an underling arguing and second-guessing him. It seemed to dawn on Diggle, though.

“This organisation – it’s kind of like being in the Army,” he said. “Right?”

Oliver nodded, pleased that Diggle was getting it. At least they were on the same page. Now, if only he could be sure that this would work. He just hoped that Thea wasn’t working the bar, or that she’d taken the night off. He couldn’t talk to her when he was like this.

Oliver stalked into Verdant, and it was like people sensed him before he arrived, as they unconsciously moved out of his way. He aimed for the man sitting at the bar, his back to the exit, and he sensed two other men moving out of the shadows and flanking him. Of course Anatoli had his men with him. No wonder he was sitting casually as if he had nothing to fear. And it was within his interests to keep him thinking that, for now.

As he approached, Anatoli turned around, and grinned, throwing his arms open.

“Oliver! My favourite American!”

Oh. So this was how they were playing it. Well, he could keep his shit together, at least until they got to his office.

“Anatoli,” he answered, trying to inject some enthusiasm in it. He tried to keep it to a handshake, but Anatoli pulled him in for a full hug. For a moment, Oliver had a panicky thought that Anatoli was going for the full three kisses greeting, but he kept it at a hug and bone-crushing handshake.

“Let’s go up to my office,” Oliver yelled over the music, and Anatoli agreed. He gestured to his men to follow them, and Diggle made up the group.

As soon as they all walked in his office, Oliver grabbed Anatoli in a headlock, and Diggle pulled out his gun, holding it on Anatoli’s men.

“You come _here_ , to my city? After what you did to me? I swore, on my friend’s grave, that I’d never kill again, but I’m ready to make an exception for you!”

Anatoli was gesturing at his men, telling them to stand down, and Oliver was amazed. What was going on?

“Oliver, please. I am sorry for that. I come with a gift, a peace offering, as you say.”

Diggle was still holding his gun on the two bodyguards, and gave Oliver a panicky look. Oliver sighed, and let Anatoli go. He straightened, and pulled at his cuffs, getting himself to rights.

_”Wait for me outside. We have business matters to discuss.”_

The two men left the room, and Anatoli gave Oliver a rueful look.

“You know I will have to kill them now, don’t you?”

Oliver shrugged, like he didn’t give a shit. But Anatoli was right – he couldn’t let some low-level thugs go back saying that he’d been humiliated by some punk American.

“So, what are you now, Anatoli? In the Bratva.”

He went to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of scotch and three glasses. Anatoli raised an eyebrow.

“No vodka?”

“I don’t drink that anymore.”

Anatoli just shook his head, and Oliver gave him the whiskey, which he knocked down in one gulp. Diggle was staring at both of them, probably wondering why Oliver was taking so long to get information out of the Russian. Diggle didn’t understand. This was Bratva business now, and it couldn’t be rushed. And there would be nothing more dangerous than Anatoli guessing that Oliver was angry about something _besides_ having been thrown off a plane. He refilled Anatoli’s glass, and beckoned towards the armchairs at one end of the room. Diggle had put his gun away, but shook his head when Oliver nodded towards a chair. When Anatoli spoke, it broke the tense silence that had fallen.

“I am Sovietnik now.”

He spoke simply, without a hint of the pride he must be feeling.

Oliver’s eyebrows rose, impressed in spite of himself.

“That’s like a Consigliere,” he said, half to himself, and half to Diggle. “Second in command. Congratulations,” he added.

Anatoli thanked him, and sipped at his whiskey.

“I was not lying, before. I really mean to make peace between us. I hope you will forgive me, once you hear what I have to say.”

Oh, Anatoli, Oliver wanted to say. Throwing me off a plane was doing me a favour, compared to what I will never forgive you for. He’d been turned into this thing, this killer, and he’d almost destroyed the one person he loved more than life itself. But externally he just raised an eyebrow, and Anatoli continued.

“Perhaps you know that we had a small contingent, here in Starling City.”

“Yeah, in that auto-shop . . . forgot the name.”

Internally he wondered why Anatoli was using the past tense.

“I had a trusted Brigadier there – Alexi Leonov. He was . . . how do you say. Of the old school?”

Oliver nodded again.

“Well.” Anatoli sighed, and put the glass down. “Some time ago, Leonov contacts me. There is this drug dealer, the Count, he calls himself. He comes with a business proposition, a new drug, a miracle drug, he calls it. We would have distribution rights, and we would be given sixty percent of the profits. Are we interested, he asks Alexi.”

Oliver started to feel chills gathering at the base of his spine. A _miracle_ drug? Surely a coincidence. Just some blustering from a smalltime loser who’d found a cause.

“Alexi asks me, and I go to the Pakhan. In the end, he says no – there is something strange about this offer. So that is the instruction I gave Alexi – to refuse, with thanks.”

Anatoli sighs.

“Last week, I get a phone call from a policeman, here in the city. My number must have been among some of Leonov’s papers. In the auto-shop, everyone is dead. Alexi, his men, everyone. Even young Misha, who had only been in the Brotherhood for a month.”

“How did they die?”

Oliver was trying hard to keep his voice under control, but it wasn’t easy. There must be some kind of turf war, with the Triads, or the Italians.

“Some were beaten to death. Others were stabbed, but not with a knife. The wound went all the way through, like-“

“Like a sword,” Oliver said. His voice was turning into a croak. “Anatoli-“

He shook his head.

“Let me finish. There were security cameras, of course. With . . . disks, and such. Everything wiped clean, destroyed. Then I remembered – Alexi, he was old guard, I told you. Often, when he was in Moscow, he would sit down with us, and if you poured enough vodka in him, he would talk about what he called the good old days. He liked to boast about the wonderful advances of the Soviet Union, especially in surveillance. He set up a system in Starling City – a camera, which took pictures every three seconds, and would send them to a computer in his home. In Moscow. We scoffed at him, asked him how it worked, how it was possible.”

Anatoli smiled, remembering happier days, it looked like.

“He always shrugged. But he assured us that it worked. And it did,” Anatoli concluded, almost sadly. “It did, old friend,” he whispered.

He pulled a manila envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to Oliver.

“Every three seconds, a picture. And in one of them, this image. Your luck is holding, Oliver.”

Oliver opened the envelope with shaking fingers, pulling out the printed photo. It was in black and white, but sharp and detailed. There was no possibility of a mistake being made. And that face was one he thought he’d never see again. Oliver had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“Slade Wilson.”

“Yes,” Anatoli answered, his voice flat.

“I killed him.”

Anatoli shook his head.

“No, Oliver.”

He wanted to keep calm, keep up his poker face in front of Anatoli, but how could he? This was Slade Wilson, the man who hated him more than anyone. He was alive. Sure, he looked older, and he wore an eye-patch now, but it was unmistakably him.

“I stabbed him in the eye. The Mirakuru . . . “

“It must have revived him. He did not come to us so that we would sell his drugs. He came to build an army.”

Oliver could sense that Digg was close to exploding. He had to wrap this up quickly, because he had to warn them that they were all in terrible danger. His fault, always. He stood up, abruptly, and Anatoli followed him.

“Thank you.”

Anatoli’s face brightened.

“We are, as you say, square now?”

Oliver smiled back, trying hard to hold on to his composure.

“Yes, Anatoli.”

Anatoli turned towards the door, then turned back, his expression speculative.

“If you need our help . . .”

Oliver pretended to consider it, knowing that a quick refusal would only sound suspicious. Eventually he shook his head, slowly.

“No. It’s my city. I will handle it. “

Anatoli nodded, and clasped Oliver’s hand. Then he really went for the three kisses, and Oliver ignored Diggle’s sardonic look. Leonov wasn’t the only one who was old school, he thought. And he was going to have to set up something to make sure that Anatoli really left the city – maybe he could put Roy onto that. Yeah, and get him killed too, his mind jeered. He watched Anatoli on the security cameras, not trusting himself to speak or even move until he’d left the club with his men. Diggle opened his mouth and Oliver held a hand up.

“Just- give me a second, Digg. I only want to tell this story once. Felicity needs to hear it, too.”

He headed for the door, but Diggle’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I know that, Oliver. But you can’t go down there like this.”

Oliver frowned, puzzled.

“I don’t-“

“Oliver, ever since you saw Anatoli, you’ve been acting weird. You walk into the foundry, she’s expecting her boyfriend, and in comes the Terminator.”

Oliver stared at him. He thought he’d been losing control so badly – instead he’d gone back to Bratva mode?

“Felicity likes the Terminator,” he mumbled, unwilling to concede the point.

Diggle rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Right now you’re so cold you’re just gonna scare her. And she’s scared enough already.”

“I don’t even know if she’s still downstairs.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw her car when we came in,” Diggle said. “And we’d better warn her. What if she still has that gun?”

Oliver winced. He pulled out his mobile and texted her.

_Everything’s ok_

And that was pretty much a lie right there.

_we’re coming down_

Diggle poured another glass of whiskey, this time to the brim.

“Drink up, Oliver. Maybe you’ll loosen up some.”

As he was obediently downing the scotch, his phone vibrated.

_how do I know it’s really you_

_maybe your bratva buddy has your phone_

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard not to let it affect him. But his world was falling apart. No, no, he had to get it together. Because they had to be united if they were going to face off with Slade Wilson. So. He had to tell her something only they knew. His mind immediately went to the obvious, and he wanted nothing more than to remind her of last night, when they’d tried to go out for dinner, but hadn’t gotten further than the front door, where he’d fucked her up against the wall. Or the time when she’d teased him all day, brushing up against him in the elevator, pretending to trip and fall into his lap in the foundry. Then, when Diggle went home, she’d pounced on him, riding him hard and fast until he lost control completely. When he could see again, she was smirking at him, looking smug, until he lifted her up onto the table and buried his face between her legs, licking her until she whimpered and nearly broke his nose when she came.

But this wasn’t the time. He rubbed his head, and came to a decision.

_in Moscow you hid your apartment key in that tub of wipes in the bathroom_

He’d found it the next morning, after his shower, and it had made him glad. She was making plans to survive. He held his breath until his phone buzzed again.

_ok_

Oliver and Diggle checked all the security feeds one more time, and headed towards the door to the foundry. As they came down the stairs, Oliver saw that she wasn’t in her usual place in front of the monitors. Then Diggle tapped his arm and pointed to a shadowy corner at the far end. She was sitting on the floor, her arms around her knees.

He crouched down next to her, but she wouldn’t look at him. And yes, her gun was in her lap. He took it away gently, checking the safety, and put it behind him. He wanted to touch her so badly, to reassure her, but he wasn’t sure she even wanted him there.

“Hey.”

She smiled at that, and it was a shaky, terrified smile, but it was still there. Diggle came up behind him, holding a mug.

“Got some hot chocolate here. But you gotta get off the floor.”

Oliver smirked. Diggle was starting to sound almost paternal. And Felicity thought so too.

“What are you, my Jewish grandma?”

She let Oliver help her up. Good one, he thought. Let’s keep it light.

“I thought you’d call her ‘Bubbe’,” he mused, exchanging a wink with Diggle.

There’d be time enough to talk about the wave of destruction that was headed their way. For now, they had to become a team again. Felicity snorted.

“I never met her, so I couldn’t say. My mom always said they’d lost touch because her parents didn’t like my dad. Turns out they were right,” she mumbled. “Wait a second, how do you know about that?”

“I’ve been doing some research,” he said, aware that he was probably blushing.

She gave him a quick smile, but her lips trembled slightly, and she started sipping her hot chocolate, probably so that she wouldn’t have to answer him. They sat in front of the monitors, and Oliver started thinking of ways to tell the whole story.

“Why was Anatoli here, Oliver?”

There was some more colour in her face now.

“Not for you,” he added quickly. “Felicity, as far as he’s concerned, you died years ago. And that’s the only part of this that’s good,” he went on, his mood darkening.

Diggle was impatient.

“Oliver, what’s going on? Who’s Slade Wilson? And why is he here?”

Felicity looked at both of them, puzzled now. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.

“Both of you have to hear this. But it’s a long story. And it’s so hard for me to go back there . . . “

Felicity gave him an encouraging look, even though he could see it was costing her. She probably still wasn’t convinced that Anatoli hadn’t come for her, and he could hardly blame her for that. He sighed, and started.

“When I was first on the island, I didn’t know it, but I wasn’t alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started getting increasingly worried about being scooped by other fics or by the show, so that's why this chapter is shorter.
> 
> Pakhan is the leader of the Bratva, kind of like the Godfather. I know the show made Anatoli that, but I needed him to come to Starling City, which he wouldn't have done if he was so high up.
> 
> Leonov's setup with the photos etc is something I have completely made up, though I was inspired by The Assets (2014), which was a really good spy show set in the 80s. The Soviets are shown to have some kind of remote surveillance in place, and I thought, why not stretch it a bit?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone once more for your support - I cherish every comment, and kudos are great too!
> 
>  
> 
> I made some edits to Chapter 1 while I was working on this chapter.

When Oliver finally stopped speaking, a tense silence fell. Diggle only interrupted him once, when he revealed that Sara had survived the Queen’s Gambit. Oliver didn’t dare look at Felicity to gauge her reaction. Diggle’s was bad enough.

“Oliver, why didn’t you tell us all this before?”

Diggle sounded angry, and Oliver started to feel resentful. Didn’t they realize how hard this was for him? He’d spent all that time not being able to trust anyone, to confide in anyone, and now they expected him to what, share? The angry words came to him and he started to speak, but caught a glimpse of Felicity, who hadn’t said anything yet. She looked up at him, her face closed off to him, and he wanted so badly to touch her, but didn’t dare. He tried again, this time calmer.

“Slade . . . I thought he was dead. I don’t even know what happened to Sara after I ended up on the Amazo. I’d just spent a week being tortured by Slade and all I knew was that I was stuck on a sinking ship. After I got off the ship . . . I . . . just wanted to put it out of my head.”

He’d made up a story about finding his way out somehow and floating on some wreckage for a few days before being picked up by a Chinese freighter. No one asked why he hadn’t gone straight home after that, and he hoped they wouldn’t. He didn’t think any of them were ready for ARGUS and Hong Kong. Seeing Sara again after thinking she was dead, then Slade and the Mirakuru, and finally Shado’s death – all that had started to seem like a long and bizarre nightmare the longer he stayed in Hong Kong.

Felicity was still pensive, picking at her nail polish, which was starting to flake off. She caught him looking, and stopped.

“Oliver, what did you mean when you said you could have cured him?”

She _had_ been listening.

“Ivo managed to synthesize a kind of cure to the Mirakuru – or an antidote. I got some and wanted to use it on Slade, at first. But then I killed him, or thought I did. I was kind of messed up.”

He’d glossed over most of the torture. But he should have known that wouldn’t be enough for Felicity.

“But-“

Diggle interrupted her.

“What I still don’t understand is why he blames you, Oliver. You didn’t pull the trigger, you didn’t even choose Sara over Shado. It’s not-“

“Rational? Logical? After we injected him with that stuff, Slade wasn’t any of those things. The Mirakuru affected everything – I’m sure he had hallucinations too. And he blamed me, at first, because Ivo told him I chose Sara. But even after he knew the truth, he didn’t hate me any less. And now he’s come here to make me pay.”

Once again, the only sound in the foundry was the faint humming of electronic equipment. Felicity was back to attacking her fingernails, but she was thinking about something, he could tell. She took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes.

“So, we need to remake that cure, right?”

Diggle nodded.

“And Barry already has a sample of the . . . stuff.”

Here he paused.

“I’m not calling it ‘Mirakuru’, Oliver. That’s dumb. Pretty sure that isn’t even Japanese.”

Oliver allowed himself a smile, because his team . . . his team was awesome. Felicity stopped him just as he wanted to tell them that.

“And I know what you’re going to say, Oliver – that it’s too dangerous to be near you, that we should go away for our own protection, well, it’s not gonna happen.”

A similar thought had also been passing through his mind. It must have showed on his face.

“See? I knew it,” Felicity crowed.

Diggle sighed.

“Come on, Oliver – we’re a team, right?”

Oliver nodded.

“Should we call Barry? Or is it too late?”

Felicity shook her head.

“Don’t think so. Let’s fire up Skype and see.”

Barry answered so fast it was like he’d been waiting for their call. Oliver noticed he wasn’t in his forensic lab, and there were voices in the background, so he quickly moved out of range of the webcam, and pulled Diggle with him. Felicity spoke carefully.

“Barry . . . where are you?”

“I’m at S.T.A.R. labs – I needed some equipment that I didn’t have at the station, so I got my buddy Cisco to help me out!”

Oliver felt his blood pressure rising as a friendly face with a widely grinning mouth popped into view, and a hand waved a greeting. Felicity glared at him and mouthed a stern ‘no’.

“Um. Barry? You know this is a secret, right? I’m sure the _Arrow_ doesn’t want everyone to be looped in on this.”

“It’s ok, Felicity,” Cisco said, a big smile on his face. “I can call you Felicity, right? Anyway, Barry made me sign an N.D.A.”

Oliver must have looked blank, because Felicity rolled her eyes.

“He really gave you a non-disclosure agreement to sign?”

Cisco grinned. Barry grinned. Then they high-fived each other. Felicity frowned.

“Guys . . . are you living on energy drinks or something?”

Barry shrugged.

“Or something. We have to get a lot of work done when the lab is closed for the night. Wait – did you want something?”

In the background Oliver could hear Cisco muttering, ‘damn, she _is_ hot’. He narrowed his eyes and Felicity gave him the same look back. Fine. He got it. Stay on target. Felicity sounded slightly exasperated as she continued.

“You know I can hear everything you say, right?”

Cisco had the grace to look ashamed, and mouthed ‘sorry’.

“Never mind. Look, I know what that stuff is now, and what we need to do about it.”

As she told them the whole story, he noticed she stuck to the effects and dangers of Mirakuru, rather than explaining how he was connected to it, or Slade Wilson. She just mentioned a very dangerous man who wanted to use it, and promised she’d email them his picture.

“And what we really need, is a cure for it. Or an antidote? I don’t know what you’d call it. Only it has to undo whatever . . . it . . . does . . . uh, guys? You’re kind of creeping me out.”

Their grins had grown even wider and they were nodding in unison. They must be running on fumes, he thought.

“We already have one! Kind of.”

Barry was almost chortling.

“See? I told you that was the right direction,” Cisco added.

Barry nodded.

“Look, all that stuff you said about how dangerous it is? I could pretty much tell after we analysed a sample. And I started to think – what if the guy who just picked up an industrial centrifuge and walked away with it, what if _this_ is what he was on?”

Oliver had to admit – the kid was brilliant.

“So we started focusing less on analysing the stuff and more on synthesising a cure. We have something – the only problem is we can only make computer projections. We can’t really test it on anyone.”

Cisco looked like he was getting an idea.

“Or . . . or we could test it on me! I could be the new Jonas Salk,” he said, dreamily.

“What the hell? Are you crazy?”

Oliver allowed himself a tiny smile as Felicity started reading Cisco the riot act.

“You need to be on the serum to take the antidote! Salk didn’t even have p-“

“Yeah, I’d have to inject myself with the Mirakuru first . . .”

“No! Do you hear me? No.”

Felicity was half out of her chair, like she wanted to leap through the screen and slap some sense into Cisco _and_ Barry, who’d been nodding in approval at Cisco’s idea. Oliver remembered something, and scrabbled for a sheet of paper and a pen.

Cisco sulked for a second, and then brightened.

“We’re still awesome for thinking of it, right? Right?”

Felicity sighed, and smiled at them.

“Yes, you’re awesome.”

She finally noticed Oliver trying to get her attention, and he held up the sheet of paper. She cocked her head and twirled her finger in a circle, and he realised he’d been holding it upside down, and quickly righted it. Her eyes narrowed.

“Sedative?” she read.

Barry’s eyes widened.

“Of course! Just because you’re removing the effect of the super-soldier serum, doesn’t mean the guy who’s been injected isn’t dangerous. So he can sleep it off. Brilliant idea, Felicity.”

She looked like she was going to correct Barry, and Oliver shook his head, mouthing ‘it’s ok’. She shrugged.

“So, guys, we need as much of the antidote as you can make. Call us when it’s ready, ok?”

They nodded, and signed off.

Felicity got up and put her coat on. He must have looked almost comically disappointed, because Diggle winced, and mumbled an excuse before heading towards the stairs to Verdant. She was looking for her car keys in her bag, but looked up when he cleared his throat.

“Felicity . . . “

Oliver didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to beg her to stay, to talk, but he couldn’t keep her, he knew that. She was biting her lower lip, chewing on it really, as she thought of what to say. He was dreading it.

“Look, Oliver.” She hesitated. “I just need a little space . . . to think.”

It was hard to breathe normally, but he managed it.

“You mean . . . a break?”

He was pretty sure his voice cracked on the last word. She was already shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking. She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“No, Oliver. Really. It’s just . . . it was such a shock, seeing that man. After all this time. I was safe here – I thought I was safe. And now . . . “

She trailed off, unwilling to finish, it looked like. He made a couple of false tries before he managed to get the words out.

“I’m s-“

“No.” She didn’t even let him finish the thought. “This isn’t on you, Oliver. It isn’t.” She smiled at him, her eyes shiny. “Not everything is about you.” She was trying to lighten the atmosphere, he got it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Oliver nodded. He instantly felt colder as she let go of his hand and walked away. He sat in her chair and stared ahead, unseeing. Could he have said something, stopped her? No, he decided. He just had to trust her, trust that it wasn’t already over. Because without her, he couldn’t live.

When he later tried to remember what he did the next morning, it was just a fog through which he drifted, unable to do anything concrete. He looked at his phone so often during breakfast, Thea started making jokes about eternal teenagers, but he barely heard her, or his mother shushing her. He’d been in the middle of wishing Felicity had given him some of her super-boosted trackers, so he could have hidden one in her purse. Though that was ridiculous. He knew where she was. It was ten in the morning, she’d be at work. He could casually drop by. Couldn’t he? Just passing by, on his way to . . . to Kalika’s office? He sighed. That wouldn’t work.

“Oliver?”

He looked up, still lost in thought, and realised that Thea was gone, all the food had been cleared off the table, and his mother was looking at him, an indulgent smile on her lips.

“Is there something wrong?”

Oliver didn’t know what to tell her. Eventually he opted to mutter something about problems at work, but nothing serious. She nodded.

“That’s good, dear. I need to talk to you. Shall we go into the living room?”

She walked ahead of him, confident that he’d follow, and for a second he felt slightly resentful. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, she couldn’t just say something and expect him to jump to obey her. Wow, where had that come from? Was it that he just wanted to sit and wallow in misery until Felicity came back to him? Probably, he thought, as he sat down on the couch. His mother sat opposite him. She bit her lip, and couldn’t meet his eyes, and for the first time that morning it dawned on him that she was nervous. Incredulous, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Mom . . . what’s wrong?”

She sighed.

“I might as well just come out and say it.”

She stared him full in the eyes and continued.

“Malcolm Merlyn is alive.”

What? That was impossible! As well as being the last thing he’d expected her to say.

“What? How can that- I mean . . . I ki- . . . he was-“

Too late, Oliver realised that no-one knew about Malcolm’s death except the person who killed him. To the rest of the city, he’d simply vanished during the earthquake he’d caused.

“I know, Oliver. _I know.”_

Oliver’s mouth fell open. Horror washed over him. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“The day I was acquitted, the driver took me to another location instead of taking me home. And Malcolm was there. He told me he’d bribed a juror so that I’d be acquitted. And that my son was the vigilante who’d ‘killed’ him.”

Oliver tried to keep his composure as his whole world crashed and burned around him. He was sure his eyes bulged as he stared at her, trying to see what she was thinking. But she just looked like she always looked nowadays – serene. With perhaps a slight undertone of worry. And there wasn’t contempt, or anger in her voice. Though there was still some apprehension, which he didn’t get. What was there to be apprehensive about? And, disguised by her attempt to hide her feelings, was there pride?

“Mom, I- “

He rubbed his eyes, and his forehead, and started again.

“Ever since I came back, I’ve been trying to save the city. At first it was dad who inspired me – he gave me the notebook, but that was pointless, in the end.”

He was rambling, he knew that. He snuck a look at her, and she smiled at him.

“Oliver, I’m so proud of you. And terribly worried, too, especially when Malcolm told me how you defeated him.”

“He told you?” Was Malcolm losing it? Did he have brain damage?

She nodded.

“He seemed to almost admire you for it.”

That figures, he thought. Stabbing yourself to get at an opponent would be the kind of crazy thing Malcolm Merlyn admired.

“How did he survive, anyway?”

She sighed, and her hands, which were clenched in her lap, twisted together nervously. He still didn’t get it. What did _she_ have to be nervous about? He was the criminal.

“Oh, he went on and on about some kind of Eastern mysticism, things which science can’t explain . . . to be honest, I tuned out after a while,” she said, shrugging. “Malcolm is one of those men who just loves to hear the sound of his own voice.”

Oliver could attest to that, he thought, remembering hanging from chains while the man ranted at him, boasting of his own ingenuity. But why was he back here?

“Why did he have you acquitted, mom? And why come back here?”

Her face froze. She sighed. She looked to the side, and then a resolute expression came over her face.

“Oliver, you know your father wasn’t perfect.”

That was a strange tangent to go off on, Oliver thought. But it wasn’t anything he didn’t know.

“And it wasn’t just a question of the Undertaking – even in his personal life.”

It struck him, suddenly, and he felt like a naïve idiot – of course his father would be the kind of man who had affairs. Probably even a mistress.

“Not that it excuses what I did,” his mother was saying, and he realised why she was telling him this. Why should she feel guilty about her own lapse, anyway, and what did it have to do with Malcolm – oh, shit. He stared at her, mouth agape, and she read his knowledge in his face.

“Malcolm Merlyn, mom? Really?”

She blushed, and lowered her eyes.

“It was a long time ago, Oliver. I was lonely, and angry at your father. Malcolm was – still is, a very handsome and charming man. It was a moment of weakness.”

Oliver opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn’t judging, that he had no right to judge her, or anyone really, for any sexual lapse, his mind cringing at the thought of his mother having sex with anyone, let alone that jerk. And even so, why would a man like Merlyn care about having an affair with someone – why would he care enough to make sure she wouldn’t go to prison? There was something missing, something he wasn’t seeing. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, thinking hard.

“Mom . . . when you say, a long time ago – how long, exactly?”

There was a rueful smile on her face.

“About nineteen years, give or take a few months.”

Wow, Malcolm sure was loyal to the women he slept with. He winced, reminding himself that he was talking about his _mother_ here. Wait a minute, Thea was nineteen, now. His mom’d had an affair while pregnant with his sister? Or . . . or was it worse than that? His mouth fell open. Thea was nineteen. They’d had an affair about nineteen years ago. It was simple math. Holy shit. When he looked up again, she was studying his face, probably to see how he would take it. And for a moment, he wasn’t sure how he should react. He had no right to judge her, he knew that.

“Did . . . dad . . . know?”

She sighed, lost in her memories.

“I told him. This was just before Malcolm vanished for a few years, and I was so angry at him, and your father. I was pregnant, and Malcolm was gone. And your father and I . . . hadn’t-“

“Come on, mom,” Oliver groaned, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

She flushed slightly. Though he caught a wicked look in her eyes before she lowered them. This was a side to his mother he’d never seen before. Maybe this was what Moira Dearden had been like, before she became the grand society lady she was now.

“I was packing my bags when he came into the bedroom – I threw the whole thing in his face. The affair with Malcolm, the baby that wasn’t his.”

She leaned back, pensive.

“I thought he would throw me out. Instead, he begged me to stay. With the baby. I think he loved me, in his own way. And he loved Thea on sight.”

Oliver was less forgiving to his father. So, you did one thing right, dad. That didn’t change their current situation, though.

“But Malcolm . . . he knows.”

She nodded, saddened.

“I don’t know how he found out. But he did. And now he demands to be let into his daughter’s life.”

Oliver groaned. That was all he needed right now. Why couldn’t Malcolm have stayed dead? Half-consciously he rubbed the scar he’d given himself when he stabbed himself to kill Malcolm. He looked up to see his mother’s eyes on him.

“Look. He can’t come into the open right now, because he’ll be arrested. So we have to shelve this. But Thea deserves to know.”

She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I can’t, Oliver. She’ll never forgive me.”

Oliver huffed, impatient.

“You’re her mother. She’ll be angry for a while, sure. But even Thea can’t stay mad forever.”

Seeing as they were sharing secrets, he realised that he had to open up to his mom. At least about some things. She was looking into the middle distance, a faint wrinkle between her brows.

“Oliver – all those injuries since you’ve been back. All those spills off your motorbike. Those came about in your . . . evening activities.”

He nodded. She sighed.

“And here I thought I could worry less about you, now that you’re a grown man. “

“Come on, mom. I know what I’m doing.”

“Really, Oliver? I understand that you want to restore your city, though I’m still unclear on why that involves dressing in green and shooting arrows at people – yes, Oliver, I do see the Robin Hood link. I went to Vassar, you know.”

Oliver couldn’t stop a snort from coming out. He tried to hold it back, but then he saw that his mother's lips were twitching too, and before they knew it, they were laughing helplessly. When they finally stopped, the look in his mother's eyes was almost . . . grateful.

“I must admit, when I thought about telling you all this, I imagined quite a different scenario.”

Oliver rolled his eyes.

“Mom, maybe you haven’t heard, but I’m the last person who can take the moral high ground here. The last.”

She shook her head.

“But there is something I need to tell you,” he continued. “On the island – I never told you or Thea this – but I wasn’t alone.”

She didn’t look shocked, he noticed. The doctor must have mentioned to her that many of his scars were obviously caused by projectile weapons.

“There’s people in my past – they have a grudge against me. And one of them is in Starling City. He wants revenge, and I’m terrified he’s going to take it out on you. Or Thea.”

Now _this_ shocked her, he could tell. He pulled the photo from his pocket and showed it to her.

“He’s called Slade Wilson. He’s Australian. He’s . . . he’s a killer.”

The last was said in a whisper. Because it was only a half-truth. Sure, Slade was a killer. But so was he. In his mind, he could hear that raspy voice berating him, making fun of his attempt to keep his family safe - _You want to see a killer, kid? Look in the mirror._

“I know you have security. And bodyguards. But he’s not going to come at us like an assassin or a hitman. He’s hiding in plain sight – acting like a businessman now. “

She nodded, studying his photograph.

“The wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she murmured. “Is he wearing an eye patch for effect, or-“

Oliver winced.

“That was me. I tried to kill him.”

“Ah.”

Oliver didn’t know how he was going to explain it to his mother – the whole business with Slade, and Shado. Because if he started, he’d have to talk about Sara, and he was so done with the whole business. It was six years ago, and he’d thought he was done with it, and now, here it all came back to haunt him. When he looked up, the expression on his mother’s face stopped him in his tracks.

“Oliver. You do know I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“If you’re telling me this man is a danger to us, then I believe you. I don’t need to hear anymore.”

Later that day, he sat in the foundry as he waited for Diggle. The conversation with his mother kept running through his head. At least she was forewarned about Slade – it would be typical of him to try and get at him through his mother and sister. At first he’d wanted to tell them to get far away from Starling City, but then he changed his mind – if Slade had enough money and resources to rebuild himself as a well-off businessman, then he could get to them anywhere they went. At least here he could protect them.

He heard the locks at the top of the stairs opening, and Diggle came in. he wasn’t alone – Felicity was with him. She came down the stairs and smiled at him, and immediately started talking about some problem they’d had at work. Diggle seemed distracted, and just went to the monitor showing the police scanner. But Oliver had to tell them before he lost his nerve. He couldn’t let all three of them be caught up in Arrow business before he told them the truth. He had sworn to himself, when Anatoli had shown him that picture of Slade Wilson – no more lies. So he went to the monitor and switched it off. SCPD would have to deal with all the shit, tonight.

Diggle was staring at him, gaping. And Felicity trailed off in the middle of her story about the new team member almost taking down all the QC servers while trying out an experimental security program. Oliver swallowed, nervously, and then forged ahead.

“I need to tell you something. It’s about Malcolm Merlyn.” He winced, and continued. “And my mother.”

~

Some time later, they were sitting in the VIP lounge at Verdant, around some beers and cocktails. Felicity kept sneaking little looks at Thea, murmuring things like ‘I don’t see it,’ and burying her face in her cocktail. Diggle just kept shaking his head and knocking back the beers. But they didn’t seem angry, Oliver thought. Shocked, yes. Annoyed that Malcolm Merlyn was still in their lives, sure. But not angry. He slowly realised that was what team work really meant, and it was like a load was lifted off his chest.

The next evening, they all met in the foundry as usual. Felicity settled down in front of the monitors, Diggle went to clean the guns, and Oliver started sharpening the arrows. When the silent alarm at a bank branch went off, Oliver got up and picked up his bow, and Diggle went out the back way to bring the van around. Felicity started rattling off information, and they were off.

And so the rest of the week went. It wasn’t like he and Felicity didn’t talk anymore, because they did. But mostly when Diggle was there. And Diggle was spending less time in the foundry, and more time with Lyla. He’d finally admitted to both of them who his contact in ARGUS really was – and it was true, Lyla did work for ARGUS, and he’d been asking her to use her connections to find out where Slade Wilson might be hiding. But the real reason was that they were getting back together. Both Oliver and Felicity congratulated him. Oliver hoped he managed to hide his envy – Diggle was finding his happiness, while his was falling apart.

One evening, they were all in the foundry – it was a slow night, and Oliver was wondering whether they should call it a night, and go home. Just as he was going to say it, the familiar beeping of a video call sounded in the foundry, and when Felicity answered it, Barry’s face swam into view. Oliver was sharpening arrows, so he was out of range of the webcam, while Diggle just moved behind the monitor. Barry was grinning widely, and then Cisco pushed him out of the way to beam at Felicity.

“We did it!”

Felicity didn’t even have time to say hello. Barry muscled his way in front of the webcam.

“We’ve got it, Felicity! The cure, antidote, whatever you want to call it.”

Cisco took over again.

“We’ve got a _boatload_.”

Felicity thanked them both, and Oliver reached a decision. What the hell was he keeping secrets for, anyway. These two kids (he knew he was only a few years older than Barry and Cisco, but at the moment he felt like their cranky grandfather) were doing all this for no reward, not even any recognition. They should both go into this with their eyes open. He got up and moved in front of the webcam, bending down so that he would be in frame – green leather, green hood and all.

“I don’t know how I can repay you two. Thank you.”

Cisco was stunned speechless. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and finally found his voice again.

“Oliver Queen? Oliver Queen’s the Arrow? Oh my God. Oh my God! Sir, rest assured that I will keep your secret. This is an incredible day for me.”

Barry smiled sideways at his friend, who was grinning all over his face, and looked at Oliver knowingly, mouthing ‘thank you’.

“Come on, Cisco, don’t call me that. It’s just Oliver.”

Cisco nodded, and grinned some more, lost in a happy daze, it looked like. When Oliver looked at Felicity she was smiling at him too. Diggle just shook his head, probably in despair at his stupidity. Barry steered things back to the antidote.

“We just don’t know how to get it to you guys. Neither of us can bring it over – my boss is watching me like a hawk. He’s said if I try to pull that crap in Starling City again, I’m fired.”

Cisco nodded.

“And the particle accelerator is back on track for next week, so I can’t go on any train trips.”

“I guess we could send a courier,” Barry said doubtfully.

“No.”

Felicity hadn’t spoken at all during the entire conversation. Now everyone looked at her. And Oliver suddenly guessed what she was going to say.

“I’ll come to you guys. I can say I’m visiting some friends in Central City – which I am!”

She gave a small smile, and both Barry and Cisco grinned in response. Then Cisco turned serious.

“Uh, Arrow? Uh, Oliver . . . is that ok with you?”

He didn’t need to look at Felicity to realise she was probably daring him to object to her plan in any way, so that she could tear into him. So he swallowed his instant rejection, his terror of losing her, and nodded, hoping none of his reactions were showing on his face.

“Great idea. You can take a carry-on bag with you, and then put the antidote in it. It’ll be less obvious that way.”

When he finally composed himself enough to look at her, she was still puzzled, probably having expected a fight. Diggle, who he could see out of the corner of his eye, gave him an approving nod. Neither of them would ever know how much it hurt and terrified him to let her go like that.

The next morning, Felicity left for Central City on the earliest train. He couldn’t go see her off – what if Slade had people watching the train station or the airport for him? And so he sat in the foundry, staring into space, until it got dark.

The sound of the power going on woke him out of his daze, and he was momentarily blinded by the lights. When the black spots in front of his eyes faded, Diggle’s face swam into view.

“Man, you have got to pull yourself together, Oliver. She’s coming back, you know.”

The childish, whiny part of him protested that she wasn’t coming back _to him_. The thought of actually saying that out loud, how it would sound, was finally the impetus he needed to get going.

“You’re right. I’m sorry – I’ve been behaving like an idiot.”

Diggle grinned.

“You’re in love, Oliver. It comes with the territory.”

So, for the next few nights, Oliver found enough crime occurring in Starling City that he managed to spend some hours not thinking about Felicity. He certainly wasn’t spending all his time wondering whether she would come back or not. Of course not. In fact, he kept himself as busy as possible during the evenings, and tried to get some sleep.

Of course, then he _couldn’t_ sleep. He’d spent an hour in his bedroom in the mansion staring at the ceiling, when suddenly, inspiration struck. And so there he was, in the foundry, in the back room where Felicity had put a closet for him, and he was building a bed. He looked up at a noise in the doorway, and it was Laurel, staring at him.

“Ollie . . . it’s seven am.”

Oliver was busy screwing in the bed slats.

“Uh huh.”

She sighed, and backed out.

After that, Diggle kept him busier in the evenings, and Kalika started calling him for various things during the day – he almost suspected that either Felicity or Diggle had put her up to it. But whatever the reason, he was relieved to have something else to think about. And so he used the mornings to run drills for people on the executive floor, under Diggle’s direction. He made sure that Kalika knew how to access the panic room, and that if she and anyone who was there with her couldn’t get out through the lifts or stairs, they would retreat there.

As the week passed, Oliver started to feel lighter. He was video chatting with Felicity every evening – she told him she spent the day doing touristy things, and then joined Barry and Cisco at the police lab, which was where they’d moved the antidote preparation. S.T.A.R. labs was amping up the preparations for the particle collider being switched on, and some people were even sleeping there.

Laurel sent him a message one evening, that Roy needed to see him, and it was urgent. He’d noted down the alleyway rendezvous, and as soon as he could, he approached over the rooftops, making sure it wasn’t a trap. As soon as he was satisfied that Roy was on his own, he dropped down in front of him, switching on the modulator as he landed.

“You wanted to see me.”

Roy had jumped back a little when Oliver landed in front of him.

“Yeah. Yes. Uh. Some buddies of mine were at the train station. They- listen, man, if I tell you they were lifting phones, are you going to shoot arrows at them? Because I want to help you, but not like that.”

Oliver sighed inwardly.

“As long as you weren’t with them, I’m prepared to let it slide.” For now, he added silently.

Roy nodded, pulling a mobile phone out of his pocket.

“My friend, Sin, thought it was weird that this guy kept looking at a picture on his phone, and then putting it in his pocket and staring at new arrivals. She watched him for an hour or so. Then she did the old bump and lift, because she was curious – she thought maybe he was with TMZ or something, and maybe JLo was coming to Starling city.”

Roy pulled out a mobile phone and gave it to Oliver.

“Just open the photo album.”

The picture that came up, was, of course, Felicity. Oliver felt like someone had just punched him in the chest. He glared at Roy, who raised his arms in surrender.

“Hey, man, I just know she works with you.”

Oliver stared at the picture again. It was the one from her employee file at QC. With all the Bratva distractions, they’d never got around to finding the mole, and here he or she was, helping Slade. Because it must be Slade. What the fuck were they going to do now? He sighed. Only one thing to do. He pulled out his mobile phone, and Skype-called Felicity from it. When she answered, she was beaming at him, and his heart skipped.

“Hey, Ohhh-Arrow-“

He couldn’t help grinning at the way she’d managed to change ‘Oliver’ to ‘Arrow’ at the last minute. He couldn’t even be annoyed – right now, his identity was the least of his problems. He’d shout it from the rooftops if he thought it would keep her safe for a second.

Roy didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Hey, Blondie!”

“Don’t call me that.”

A pointed throat-clearing from Oliver got them both on task again. Just as Roy was explaining everything to Felicity, his earpiece crackled.

“What’s up, man? What did Roy want?”

He started explaining to Diggle, when he heard Diggle’s mobile phone ring. When he heard Diggle say Felicity’s name, he realised she was explaining everything to him directly, and even though he felt a jealous twinge, he managed to brush it off. Then Diggle apparently spotted a report of an armoured car heist taking place, and Oliver had to leave in a hurry.

Later that night, Felicity called him in the foundry.

“So, Oliver . . . we kind of have a plan.”

He nodded, waiting for the details.

“Step one: you have to get Roy a van.”

Get who a what now?

“I don’t understand . . .”

Felicity waved her hands in an expressive gesture.

“Not a new van – something old and falling to pieces. Something they can spray-paint quickly. Roy and his friends, I mean. Who will be waiting at the at the train station in disguise. And Diggle will be there, too.”

“And what about you?”

Felicity brightened.

“I’ll be in disguise too! As long as you can promise me,” and here she turned deadly serious, “that Knyazev and anyone associated with him are out of Starling City, Oliver.”

He nodded, almost before she’d finished speaking.

“I promise, Felicity. They’re gone.”

She smiled again, and yawned. He realised she was going to sign off, and spoke quickly before she left.

“What about you? What’s your disguise?”

She smirked.

“It’s a surprise, Oliver. Not gonna ruin it.”

The look in her eyes behind her glasses was full of her old merriment, and he was glad. The week in Central City had done her good.

The next evening, Oliver was sitting in the same place, the foundry, in front of the monitor, hacked into the security feeds at the railway station. He was slightly resentful – he’d wanted to go there too, and had even said he’d change out of his Arrow suit after patrolling. But it had been vetoed, by both Diggle and Felicity, and he’d had to give in.

He kept scanning all the feeds – the exterior, the interior, the different angles next to the tracks. No Felicity. He spotted a couple of travellers giving a wide berth to a group of young people wearing torn clothes, chains, spiked hair. They were heavily made up, and what with the black and white security footage, it took him a while to recognize Roy as one of them. He started getting an inkling of what Felicity’s disguise was.

Oliver went over the feeds again, one by one, and suddenly, there she was. He fell back in his seat, stunned. Gone were the spiked heels, flirty skirts, glasses and blond ponytail. Instead, she was Meghan, reborn. The long black wig couldn’t be the same one, but it looked the same. Her face, what he could see from the security camera, was heavily made up, and she was wearing torn, layered t-shirts, and heavy biker boots. Instead of pants she had a frayed denim skirt on, and torn tights under it. He moved to another camera, and caught the moment when Roy’s group spotted her. They must have made such a loud scene, he actually saw some security people start moving towards them – good move, he thought. If Slade’s men are there, they’re not going to want any attention drawn to them. At that moment, he caught a glimpse of Sin, Roy’s friend – a tiny gamine brunette. She draped herself over Felicity and started a long lip lock, and this worked even better for their purposes – now no-one wanted to look at them. And, he’d been told, this was when they would hand over the suitcase containing the antidote, to Diggle, who would look like a businessman on his way home.

Oliver managed to follow the group as they left the station, and knew that they would be dropping Felicity off here, at Verdant. Diggle would be heading off home, with the antidote, which he would keep securely in his apartment. He leaned back in his chair, or rather, Felicity’s chair, and waited. She’d be annoyed if she knew that all he was doing was waiting for her, but he just couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He knew if he tried to sharpen arrows he’d just end up cutting himself, if he tried working out, he’d just fall off the salmon ladder. He was still wearing the Arrow suit – he’d only taken off the mask, and pulled the hood down before settling in front of the monitors. He just wanted to see her so badly.

Oliver was in the middle of turning around and around in the chair, when he heard the lock disengage on the door to Verdant. Felicity came down the stairs slowly and deliberately, to give him the full effect of her outfit. She’d taken off the wig, but left the make-up on, except for the black lipstick, which was now a glossy pink. As soon as she got close enough to get a good look at him, she giggled.

“You look like a panda.”

He grinned. He hadn’t taken off the camo greasepaint around his eyes, in case he had to put the mask on again.

She walked up to him and he held a hand out, which she clutched, entwining her fingers through his. And then she surprised him, by climbing into his lap, straddling him, squirming a bit until she got comfortable, and smirking when she saw him bite his lip.

“Missed me?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She rummaged in her messenger bag until she found what she was looking for. She took out a couple of wipes.

“Here, let me take off your eye make-up. No, don’t tell me – it’s camouflage greasepaint,” she continued, rolling her eyes.

He just nodded, wishing he trusted himself enough to touch her.

“Close your eyes.”

He obeyed, and she passed the soothing wipe over his eyes gently, until she was satisfied, and he opened them again.

“There. Now you look like you again.”

She touched his face, cradling his cheek, and kissed him.

“I missed you so much, Oliver.”

Whatever else she wanted to say was muffled when he couldn’t resist any longer and kissed her back, crushing her in his arms, burying his tongue in her mouth.

“Felicity . . . “

He wanted to say more, but just couldn’t get the words out, and instead kissed her again, and she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

“If I ever come up with such a stupid idea again,” she whispered, while kissing his neck, “ you have to stop me. Space . . . who the hell needs space,” she murmured, nuzzling him. “I was so worried.”

He pulled back, puzzled. She saw his expression and continued.

“When I arrived in Central City, it hit me: what if I never see you again? What if this Slade Wilson does something to you, and the last thing I said was that I needed time away from you?”

Her eyes were shiny, and she had to blink a couple of times. He stroked her arms, trying to calm her down.

“Felicity, I’m fine. I’m here. We’re together.”

She nodded, her lips trembling, and she sniffed. Then she screwed her nose up, looking adorable, and sniffed again.

“Is that motor oil I smell?” she asked, mock angrily.

“Maybe?”

“Am I going to turn around and see that big monster of yours in the back passage- oh my God. Oh God what did I just say. I can’t believe you just let me walk into that.”

She punched him for emphasis, and he chuckled.

“If by my monster you mean the motorbike-ow!”

She punched him again and he tickled her in revenge.

“Like I was saying, the bike’s inside because there’s a big lightning storm coming tonight, Felicity,” he said, widening his eyes for the full wronged innocent effect.

“Lightning storm, huh? Whatever, Oliver. You’re lucky I’m in love with you,” she said, her fingers nervously playing with the zipper of his top, belying the lightness of her tone. He caught them and squeezed her hand, looking her in the eyes.

“I know I’m lucky, Felicity. I know.”

She moved in for a kiss again, and they kissed until they were both out of breath. He would have been happy to stay there all night, nuzzling her neck, alternating tiny kisses and bites, but she wanted more, and kept rubbing up against him, riding him, until he couldn’t hold back a moan. She looked at him wickedly.

“You’ve got a little problem there, Mr Queen.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“I thought it was a big monster.”

She gasped in pretend indignation and punched his side. Then she got off him, slowly.

“Do you like my outfit?” she asked, twirling. He nodded, fervently.

She slowly pulled off the t-shirts, revealing a black lace bra which he hadn’t seen before. His mouth went dry. He’d been half-hard ever since he caught a glimpse of her on the security feed from the train station, and now he went all the way as she took the bra off, too, throwing it aside. He pulled her towards him, burying his face in her breasts, and kissing and nibbling every part of her within reach. He kissed down to her stomach, and heard her moan a couple of times, until she pulled away from him.

She grabbed the t-shirts she’d taken off and dropped them on the ground at his feet. And then, pulling him closer to her, she settled down on her knees in front of him. His mouth fell open as he stared at her. He managed to react as she pulled down his zipper.

“Felicity . . . you don’t have to . . .” he protested half-heartedly.

She gave him a sunny smile, as she carefully pulled his underwear down.

“But I want to,” she answered, conversationally, as she took his cock in a firm grip and licked a stripe up the shaft. His head fell back as he groaned. He could feel her lapping gently at the head, and he gasped. It took him a few seconds before he could look at her without coming instantly. When he did, she was smiling up at him, her lips shiny.

“Now watch carefully, Oliver. You wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

She pursed her lips over the crown and slowly sucked his cock into her warm wet mouth as it twitched and jerked, and he was lost in the sensations coming from his groin. Her head started bobbing up and down, and he could see her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked on him. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, and she seemed to sense his hand hovering over her, because her fingers met his and she pulled his hand to her. She didn’t stop her rhythm, making happy little noises and hums which he could feel in his cock. He couldn’t stop groaning and gasping as she sucked harder and harder, and he hoped it hadn’t only been a few seconds when he felt a tightening in his balls and knew he was so close. He wanted to push her head away, but she didn’t let him, her mouth fastened on his cock.

“God! Felicity, I can’t . . . fuck!”

He cried out as he came, his fingers tangled in her hair, and collapsed in the chair, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. She pulled off his cock and kissed it once, before tucking it carefully back into his underwear, then sat back on her heels and waited. He lunged at her, lifting her in his arms as she giggled, and he kissed her, tasting himself in her mouth, and carried her to the inner room.

“Oliver! There’s a bed in here!”

He threw her on it, enjoying the sight of her breasts bouncing, and started taking his clothes off.

“I got really bored when you were gone.”

She smiled and leaned back on her elbows, spreading her legs and raising her eyebrows. He took off her heavy boots, throwing them behind him. Then he managed to hook his fingers into her skirt, tights and panties, and pulled them all down and off. He settled down between her thighs, and had just given her a few licks, when she pushed at his head.

“Hey, Oliver, come up here.”

He must have looked disappointed, because she smirked, and slapped his hands away as he kept trying to stroke her thighs and slide his fingers between them.

“I wanted to talk, Oliver – no, pouting isn’t going to work. No, not the puppy-dog eyes, either.”

He surrendered, and lay down on his back, pulling her on top of him, putting his hands at his sides, and she kissed his chest as she settled there.

“So, about Malcolm Merlyn,” she started, and then looked at his face, probably noticing his expression.

“Felicity, please tell me you weren’t thinking of Malcolm Merlyn while we were – uhh . . .”

She giggled.

“No, of course not. Idiot,” she added affectionately as she clambered up his chest and dropped a few kisses on his face.

“It’s just – I know how much this is bothering you, even though you won’t say. And I hope you realise that we’ll be dealing with him as a team.”

She stared at him as she said it.

“Just because she’s your sister and his daughter, doesn’t mean we’re not involved, Oliver. Don’t shut us out.”

He buried his hands in her hair and pulled her in for a deep kiss. No, that was the old Oliver. No more secrets. She pulled back from him and smirked.

“I was also wondering when you’d be ready . . . again.”

She gave him a coy look through her eyelashes and his body responded immediately. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“Pretty much good to go right now, Felicity.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she laughed, as she grabbed his cock in a firm grip, jacking him a couple of times. She moved fast at first, straddling his hips, but then slowed down as she lowered herself down on him, staring into his eyes as she slid down on his cock, taking him in, inch by inch.

Something occurred to him.

“No, wait! Felicity . . . I don’t have a condom here,” he said, even as he remembered that the last time they’d had sex here, she’d brought the condoms. She nodded at him, and he saw her shiver, her nipples tightening.

“I’m on birth control, Oliver. I don’t want to use a condom. I want you to come inside me.”

It took him all his self-control to hold back from coming almost immediately. She rocked a few times, tentatively, and gave him a wicked smile.

“What else can I do for you, Mr Queen?”

Her voice was low and professional, her tone belying the fact that she was tightening around his cock like a fist. He allowed himself to run his hands up her thighs until they bracketed her hips, her skin warm and silky under his rough calloused fingers.

“I want to see you touch yourself.”

He hardly recognised his own voice when he heard it, he was so hoarse with longing. She nodded, knowingly, and smiled at him, teasing him at first with passing her hands over her nipples and pinching them with a little gasp. But that wasn’t what he meant, and she knew it. She gave him a wicked little smile as her fingers slid down to where they were joined, and she closed her eyes as she rubbed her clit and rode him at the same time. She moved slowly and deliberately, tightening her inner muscles with the same rhythm, and he was transfixed by her fingers slipping through her folds and pinching her clit. It seemed endless as she rode him while rubbing herself, never speeding up, keeping the same slow deliberate rhythm as she tightened and relaxed around his cock. After what seemed like hours, she sped up and moaned, and he could actually see her face change as she came. Her muscles contracted around his cock in waves, and he was lost, gripping her hips so hard he left marks as he pumped into her once, twice, three times as he shook and groaned. They gasped for breath together, and she collapsed on his chest. He gently lifted her off him and she snuggled into his side. He thought she was already asleep when she opened her eyes and stroked his face.

“I love you, Oliver.”

He could only nod and smile, tears in his eyes, and he kissed her again as she dozed off. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, and was surprised to catch himself in a yawn. Maybe he could get some sleep too, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that my Oliver was going to be almost painfully honest and open.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support, and sorry for the delay on this chapter.

Ever since she started working with Oliver and Diggle, Felicity had seen many things that she’d never thought possible. A machine that caused earthquakes, a man stabbed through the chest and coming back to life, a serum that gave super-strength and a violent temperament to match (and the thought of the Mirakuru made her automatically think of Barry, struck by lightning when the particle accelerator exploded, and still in a coma after six weeks), but this was the most unlikely of all. All the banners said the same thing.

MOIRA QUEEN FOR MAYOR

When Oliver had told her his mother was looking into going into politics, she’d never expected this. Neither had he, she could tell by his expression when he’d told her about it. The past weeks had gone by without any moves from Slade Wilson, which worried Oliver more than he cared to admit. And even though they all suspected Sebastian Blood, Isabel Rochev and someone in Queen Consolidated of working with Slade Wilson, all their investigations had come up with exactly zilch. Nothing. Zero. So life had gone on among Team Arrow (“Since when do we call us that?” “Since I decided on it, _Oliver_.”) with the usual mix of bank robberies, armored car heists, and drug operations to break up. She’d even managed to spare a couple of weekends to visit Barry in hospital, though she had no idea what good it had done. It was just so wrong to see him like that – he was usually such a motor-mouth, so full of energy. Now he just lay there, attached to machines which beeped away his life.

Felicity shook her head to get rid of the image of that still figure in a hospital bed, and checked over the network again. She was at Verdant, helping Thea put together the final touches for Moira Queen’s fundraiser. Even though both Oliver and his sister were initially doubtful of the idea, once they realised that it would help Moira get back into the swing of things again, they’d thrown themselves into her campaign with enthusiasm. She was being opposed by Sebastian Blood, a name which still made Felicity wince, and Laurel growl. But, try as she might, Laurel could not find any dirt on the alderman. She said it was because he covered his tracks too well, while others (including Oliver) might say that was because there was no dirt to find.

And anyway, they had their own changes in Team Arrow, which seemed to take priority over Laurel’s one woman crusade against the unfortunately named alderman. It had been a strange day when they found out, a few weeks ago. Diggle had been called away from the foundry before she and Oliver had arrived – in fact, he’d been in such a hurry, he’d left the browser open on the main monitor, and when Felicity innocently maximised the window, a shocked squeak had erupted before she could control it. Oliver rushed in from the back room, just wearing the leather pants, which were still open, distracting her momentarily from what she’d seen on the screen.

“What happened? Felicity?”

“Mmm?”

She looked up to see his worried face. “Oh! Yes, yes . . . um . . . Diggle’s been looking things up . . .”

She turned the monitor around to face him, so that Oliver could see the many millions of results Diggle got after he googled “baby supplies”. She looked up at him, and was surprised by a smile on Oliver’s face which could only be described as sappy.

“Diggle and Lyla are having a baby!”

She smiled too, though less mushily, she hoped, and gave Oliver a few seconds to wallow in it.

“Do not get any funny ideas, Oliver! I’m not ready to be a mom!”

He laughed and turned her chair around to face him, or rather, face his chest, and had her eyes drawn to his waistband, which was still gaping open. He cupped her chin and tilted her face up to where he was grinning down at her.

“But maybe one day? And my eyes are up here, Felicity!”

“Uh huh.”

She quickly manoeuvred around his hand, giving his fingers a quick nibble to distract him while deftly unzipping his pants and pulling down his boxers.

“Oh god . . . “

He gasped, and then groaned wordlessly as she slipped off the chair onto her knees and started licking his cock.

“Fel- ah . . . didn’t we say not here - . . .”

She lifted her head and gave him a cheeky grin.

“ _You_ said that – I don’t remember agreeing.”

She tightened her grip on his cock, and raised her eyebrows.

“Maybe I should stop,” she said, slowly, pretending she was considering it, while still jacking him.

He groaned again.

“Please don’t stop.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting you – please . . . “

She smirked at him, and licked a stripe up his cock while maintaining eye contact. She knew exactly what effect that had on him. He swallowed, and his cock twitched, and she knew what he was desperate for, as she slowly and tortuously slid her mouth down over him, as far as she could. She’d never realized what fun it was to make Oliver beg, she thought, as she started sucking hard. And this was a great opportunity – no Diggle in the lair, Oliver half in the Arrow suit . . . Also, she wanted to make this quick. Hopefully, by the time he came, he’d have forgotten all about the little episode of baby fever he’d had. Not that she didn’t want kids. Eventually. But not right now. Oliver’s hand tangled in her hair as he stroked her head, and she gave him a hum of approval in reward.

Felicity realised she was standing on the dance floor in Verdant, her finger on the screen of her tablet, lost in very erotic memories. She shivered as she remembered that when he’d come, Oliver had flipped her onto the medical examining table and had buried his face in her pussy for about an hour, making her very glad that Verdant wasn’t open yet, because for sure someone would have heard the screaming. God, Oliver was so good at that. She sighed, blushing slightly at the memory. Not much patrolling had been done that night. She shook her head, and focussed on what needed to be done to make sure Moira’s presentation would come off hitch-free. Just then, Oliver walked in, dressed in one of his Hugo Boss suits, and her mouth went dry. This was even better than the Arrow suit, she thought faintly – and then Oliver looked straight into her eyes and winked, knowing full well what kind of effect he had on her. Oh, it was _on_! Except it would have to wait, as Moira and her team followed him in. Felicity tried to sneak away, as she always did when Moira Queen was around, only to find a tall barrier between her and the entrance to the foundry. Diggle folded his arms and shook his head sternly, implying that she wasn’t going to run off and hide from Moira this time.

After the press conference, the fundraiser proper began – and Moira had intense discussions with various representatives from city government, pledging her support, if elected. Felicity would have died before voicing the sarcastic thoughts in her head – one of them being the irony of Moira seeking support from the very people who’d arrested her and who had tried to sentence her to life imprisonment a few months ago. But I guess we’re not talking about that anymore, she thought sardonically. She was sipping some white wine and watching Diggle, who was busy checking on all the security. He still hadn’t told them about the baby, but she supposed that he would, when he was ready.

Oliver was providing support to his mom as she patiently listened to every blowhard with an issue to air, and Thea was directing the supply of drinks to the bar. She could even see Laurel, sitting at one of the tables, chatting with Sebastian Blood, of all people. Laurel had explained it to her as keeping an eye on the guy, and even though Felicity hadn’t been sure of the importance of her task before, she was now, having caught him looking at Moira with daggers in his eyes. Did he really think Moira could win this, that she was a credible threat to his own campaign? Come on! The woman had been involved in the destruction of half the city last year! Felicity bit her lip and buried her face in her wine glass. These thoughts must never leave her head.

Soon enough, the party was over, and people started trickling out. Thea had told the janitorial staff to go home and clean up in the morning instead, and it was just Oliver, his mother, Thea, Diggle and Felicity left. All the other staff had been told to go home, and Thea had handed out celebratory glasses of champagne for everyone except herself. They were all sitting in the VIP lounge, and while Moira had given her a few curious looks earlier, she seemed to have accepted her as part of their team. Felicity was starting to feel very sleepy, and wondering if they were going downstairs for foundry duty after this, when she noticed a determined look come over Oliver’s face. The effect was as good as an ice-cold shower to sober her up, as she sat up straight, wondering what he was up to. Oliver put his champagne glass down with a hard clink.

“Mom, Thea, there’s something I want to tell you,” he started, but he didn’t get very far before he was interrupted by a horribly familiar voice.

“Let me guess, it isn’t about me, is it?”

Like in one of those nightmares where you need to run but can’t move, Felicity turned slowly to stare at the man who’d just emerged from one of the shadowy corners of the club. Everyone except Thea reacted to Malcolm Merlyn with varying degrees of shock and anger, but no surprise. Merlyn surveyed them all, one by one, and Felicity shuddered when his smirk widened as his eyes rested on her. He knew. Even if he hadn’t before, he knew now. Was he going to use this to cause more trouble? But Thea didn’t give him the chance.

“Oh my God! Malcolm Merlyn is still alive?”

Thea’s voice was full of horror. She’d been texting with Roy for the past hour, and grabbed her phone off the table.

“Get away from us, or I’ll call the cops!”

Malcolm smirked and folded his arms. No-one else moved. Thea looked around her in bewilderment.

“Ollie, why isn’t anyone calling the cops?”

Malcolm moved closer, never taking his eyes off Thea.

“Maybe because they know something you don’t, Thea!”

Oh, no, Felicity thought dully. He’s going full Darth Vader on her.

“I don’t understand . . . “

Thea’s face started to register a look of suspicion as well as shock. Diggle was trying to reach for his gun, but Oliver shook his head – too many non-combatants around, Felicity guessed.

“Thea, I am your father.”

This is _so_ bad, Felicity thought, as she put her head in her hands, unwilling to see any more after registering Thea’s horrified face.

“No! You’re lying! Mom, tell me he’s lying!”

“Search your feelings, you _know_ it to be true,” Felicity moaned despairingly under her breath, though not low enough to prevent Oliver from hearing her, and shooting her a look which managed to mix in ‘not now, honey’ with the usual fondness she saw directed towards her.

Oliver got up, and glared at Merlyn. She hoped he wasn’t going to beat Merlyn up - wait, what was she saying? Oh, this crazy family was going to be the death of her. But no, Oliver didn’t throw any punches.

“Get out, Merlyn.”

“You can’t keep me from my daughter!”

Oliver lost it. That was the only way Felicity could describe what happened next – an enraged outburst which she’d never seen from Oliver before.

“Your daughter? You didn’t give a fuck about Thea during the Undertaking, when you told me you were going to murder both my mother and my sister! Get out!”

“I didn’t know she was-“

“Do not finish that sentence, Malcolm!” Moira’s voice was icily enraged.

She got up and stalked towards Malcolm. “You heard my son, get out!”

Felicity started to get a little nervous. They were being awfully cavalier with the merciless killer, here. But Malcolm only had eyes for Thea, and once he saw that she was close to tears, raised his arms in surrender.

“I’ll leave, for now. But you can’t keep me away from her forever.”

He melted away into the shadows, and once again Felicity wondered where exactly he’d learned all his ninja skills – she was sure Oliver had set the alarms after the last party guest had left, so how’d he even get in the club?

Thea stormed down the stairs, her mother and Oliver following close behind. Oliver managed to hiss a few words over his shoulder.

“Let me get them both home, and I’ll meet you two back here.”

Felicity nodded, and they were all gone.

“Man, that family has some drama!”

Diggle was passing his hands over his head, repeatedly. Felicity got up and stretched, trying to loosen the cricks in her back. And even though she should have been traumatised and upset, she really wasn’t. A mass murderer was just here, she thought. And I’m . . . ok.

“I think I’m becoming desensitized to it, Digg,” she said, thoughtfully.

Diggle laughed, and shook his head.

“You better, if you’re going to be one of them!”

She gave him a mock frown, and then brightened.

“Hey, let’s go to the foundry – I wanted to check if there are paparazzi still following them.”

Diggle looked quizzical.

“How are you going to- Felicity, what did you do?”

“Well, I’m not going to say I hacked all the traffic cams on the route from here to the Queen Mansion if you don’t.”

Diggle was right. She’d realised a while ago that if she couldn’t handle this kind of thing, becoming part of the Queen family was not for her. And she did want to become part of the family, she realised. For Oliver.

“I didn’t even know there were so many traffic cams to hack,” Diggle said plaintively as they went down the stairs to the foundry.

“Uh huh.”

“Felicity? What’s with the shifty eyes?”

Felicity walked rapidly to the monitors, and started bringing up the “traffic cams”, half of which she’d secretly installed. She looked back at Diggle, sheepishly, only to find him beaming at her, an admiring look on his face.

“You are something else, Felicity!”

She smiled, and then frowned.

“Is that a good thing? That’s a good thing, right?”

He grinned.

“It’s a good thing. Now, let’s see if we can spot the limo . . . huh. That’s weird.”

Felicity spun around to look at the various frames showing the cam footage.

“What? What’s weird?”

“A lot of activity going on . . . but only in certain areas. There’s a roadblock here,” he said, pointing to a square on the screen. “Then there’s roadworks _here_ , but the workers aren’t doing anything. They’re just standing around. And then, over here,” he said, pointing to another part of the screen, “there’s a water main burst, and more of the street being cordoned off. What are the chances all these things happened at the same time, and tonight?”

Felicity looked back at the screen. Now that he’d pointed it out, she could see the pattern. Diggle got in closer.

“There’s the limo. They wanted to use the road with the water main but had to go back – oh, shit. Felicity, they’re being boxed in!”

Felicity was already frantically tapping out Oliver’s number, and for a few horrible seconds, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, when he did, she could hear female voices arguing in the background. Oliver’s voice, when it came, sounded a little strained.

“Felicity . . . this isn’t the best time-“

“Oliver, you have to listen to me!”

She cut through his words frantically, with a feeling that they were already too late. Diggle leaned over her to yell into her phone.

“Oliver, we can see you on the traffic cams – you’re being boxed in! You gotta get out of there!”

Immediately, she heard Oliver’s voice yelling instructions at the driver, and on the screen, the limo stopped, and started to reverse. Too slow, Felicity thought, numbly. Too late. Time slowed to a crawl as she watched another car come out of nowhere, and crash into the side of the limo. Was that where Oliver had been sitting, she thought distantly, as black spots appeared in front of her eyes. The phone dropped from her nerveless fingers, but Diggle rescued it, shouting desperately into the receiver.

“Oliver! Can you hear me? Oliver!”

Felicity couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. She kept watching the screen helplessly, as, one by one, her cameras went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Felicity always sees Star Wars parallels, and can quote from The Empire Strikes Back at the drop of a hat. And I like her that way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos - I appreciate every single one!
> 
> The end note contains spoilers for the chapter.

Felicity later thought she would have spent the next few hours staring into space, unseeing, if it hadn’t been for Diggle. After shaking her a few times, he lost his patience.

“Felicity, you gotta snap out of it! Right now!”

“I’m here . . . I mean, yes. What . . . what do we do?”

The expression on his face turned into sympathy, but then hardened again.

“We have to find out where he’s taking them.“

A horrible thought struck her.

“What if – what if they’re dead? What if he killed them?”

But Diggle was shaking his head.

“Listen – if this Slade guy wanted to just kill Oliver and his family, he had plenty of chances before we even knew he was in Starling. No, we have to assume he’s taking them somewhere.”

“But where?”

Felicity felt like she was stuck in a fog. Her brain wasn’t working right anymore – it kept replaying the car smashing into the limousine, over and over. And Oliver’s last words to her, which were hardly the stuff tragic love stories were made of. An angry huff made her look up at Diggle, whose expression indicated that he was holding on to his patience with both hands, as well as his teeth.

“Felicity . . . what about the trackers? The ones you used on Oliver during the Undertaking? “

Of course! What was _wrong_ with her, that she’d forgotten them?

She immediately pulled out her tablet and started the app. Diggle frowned.

“Though Slade might be savvy enough to take Oliver’s watch and shoes – his cell will be gone too.”

Felicity snorted.

“As if I’d hide them somewhere that obvious.”

Diggle winced.

“Do I want to know where you hid them?”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. His pants have a hem, though I bet Hugo Boss will put out a hit on me if he ever finds out I unpicked one of his hems and resewed it. Is there a Hugo Boss, though? Or is it just a brand name? Oh, and Oliver’s boxers have a waistband, which is very convenient. Serves him right for insisting on boxers, instead of boxer-briefs, which are much nicer . . . why are you making that expression, Digg?”

“While I’m glad you got your babble on again, that’s more than I need to know about Oliver’s underwear.”

She gave him a shaky smile, and went back to the tracker app.

“I think we’re out of range – we need to get to that intersection as soon as possible.”

Diggle nodded, and got up.

“I don’t know _why_ I put half of the Mirakuru cure in the van, and loaded it into ammo for tranq guns, but I’m glad I did. All we need now,” he said, as he went to the back of the foundry, where they kept extra weapons, “is the thermal imaging gun we liberated from those Army guys who went rogue last year. And Roy.”

He came out of the back with some equipment which looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie, and Felicity grabbed her bag, shoved her phone in it, and raced towards the back exit. In the van, she texted Roy to meet them at the intersection, telling him it was a matter of life and death, that Thea had been kidnapped. When they arrived at the site, which was already surrounded by yellow tape, and police officers and CSIs, someone banged violently at the door of the van. Felicity slid it open, and a wild-eyed Roy in a red hoodie pushed his way in and slammed it shut behind him. Diggle exchanged a glance with Felicity.

“Listen, I’m going to tell Lance . . . what I can. We need to have him and the cops standing by, in case we need backup.”

Felicity nodded, and Roy, who was vibrating with suppressed tension, pounced on her.

“You said . . . you said Thea was kidnapped! What’s going on?”

When she explained that Oliver, Moira and Thea had been taken after their limousine was rammed, he interrupted her.

“What about the Arrow? Why didn’t you call him? I thought you worked with him!”

Felicity looked around wildly, wishing there was another way. But there really wasn’t. If Oliver survived this (no, _when_. Not if), he was going to kill her. She had to blink back the tears. Come back to me, Oliver, and yell at me for telling everyone your secret.

“Roy. The Arrow can’t save them, because Oliver _is_ the Arrow.”

He gaped at her open-mouthed, eyes bulging. He stuttered a few nonsense words, and then tried again.

“Thea’s asshole brother is the Arrow?”

Felicity narrowed her eyes.

“He’s also my boyfriend, so watch your mouth!”

Roy raised his hands in a placatory gesture.

“Sorry, sorry . . . but Thea doesn’t know, right?”

Felicity shook her head.

“They need our help, Roy.”

Roy looked fierce.

“Anything, Felicity.”

Diggle got back in the van, and they drove off. Felicity explained to Roy that they had to drive in concentric circles radiating outward from the intersection so that she could pick Oliver up on her tracker app. Her words exuded a confidence she didn’t feel. But, wonder of wonders, it worked. They’d been driving for some minutes when something pinged on her tablet screen.

“Stop!”

The van screeched to a halt and Felicity held onto the tablet with an effort, then focused on the tracker map, which was overlaid onto a map of Starling City and its outskirts. Felicity told Diggle which direction he should be driving in, and Diggle explained to Roy how to use the thermal imaging equipment, to find out how many crazy Mirakuru guys were standing guard around wherever Slade had them.

“Diggle, turn the lights off! And slow down. Oliver’s stopped moving.”

Diggle stopped and parked, and climbed over the seats into the back.

“Let me see that. Tell me the distances – wait, I got it.”

He enlarged a few areas, and then showed Roy how to use the thermal imager.

“So, this monitor should show us how many people are around, before we stumble over them.”

Felicity looked at the map on her tablet. They were really close to a wooded area between Starling and Central City. When she saw Oliver’s tracker start moving again, she nearly had a heart attack, but then she realised that the speed wasn’t anything close to a car.

“He’s being carried . . . I think . . . “

She murmured the words under her breath, but Diggle heard her, and nodded curtly, before going back to the Mirakuru, and loading darts into tranq guns. Roy was out of the van, and aiming the thermal imager as Diggle had showed him, occasionally looking at the monitor.

“Ok,” he hissed at them. “I’ve got one guy dragging people out of a car.” He swallowed hard, as he realised that one of the people being dragged was Thea. He clenched his jaw angrily and continued. “Then there’s five others – they’re standing up, and not moving. They must be Slade’s guys, guarding the perimeter.”

Diggle looked up.

“Just five? That can’t be!”

Roy looked again.

“Five is all I’m reading, Dig!”

“Then you’re not reading it right!”

Felicity sighed, impatiently. There was a time and place for movie trivia, and this wasn’t it. Diggle checked the monitor himself.

“Huh. Just five. Where are all the other guys- never mind.”

He grabbed two tranq pistols and loaded them, giving one to Roy. Felicity glared at him, and he stared back.

“Do _you_ know how to shoot these things?”

She shook her head, giving him the look she’d perfected as a sullen teen. Dig ignored it, and opened the van door again. He and Roy crept out, and Roy had time for one last question.

“What if the sedative doesn’t take them down?”

Diggle’s grim answer was whispered as they crept into the night.

“Then they’ll wish it had.”

Felicity went back to the case holding the rest of the cure, and took out two syringes. It was weird. They looked like the ones the Count had held to her neck, that night, what seemed like a lifetime ago. But that had been the serum, and she held the cure. Heh. _You’re the disease, and I’m the cure!_ Where was that from? Now it was going to bug her all night.

She tried to shake off the crazy tangents her mind was going on, and focused on the syringe again. It looked small. Would it be enough for Slade Wilson? It would have to be. Her hand felt sweaty. She put the syringe down, and wiped her hand on her skirt, trying to calm her nerves. She could do this. She was the only one who could. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement on the monitor, and realised that the three people, who’d just been huddled shapes on the ground, were getting up on their knees. Come on, Diggle! Where are you? As if called by her thoughts, Diggle appeared, followed by Roy.

“Slade’s men are taking a nap. Now-“

Felicity got up, the syringe gripped in her hand. “Now it’s my turn.”

Diggle’s eyes widened.

“No!” He tried to stop her, while Roy raised his hands to indicate he was staying out of this one. “What if- what am I going to tell Oliver if Slade hurts you?”

“What am I going to tell Lyla and your baby if Slade hurts _you_?”

She swallowed a hysterical giggle when Diggle’s eyes bulged in shock.

“Private browsing, dude. Look into it.” She took a deep breath. “You can’t do this, Diggle. The minute he sees you, he’ll take you down.”

“I’m not that easy to take down, Felicity-“ Diggle started, and she interrupted him.

“Didn’t you see Oliver’s face when he was telling us about Slade? Oliver is terrified of that man. The only way we have a chance is if he doesn’t see it coming. I have to do it, because he won’t see a threat when he looks at me.”

She swallowed, wiping her hands on her skirt again. And he’d be right, she thought.

“Here, take your earpiece,” she said, handing it to Diggle. “The mic is in my bra.” She resolutely ignored Roy’s raised eyebrows and Diggle’s pained grimace. Yes, I have breasts. Get over it.

“Just make sure you’re ready,” she continued, pointing at Diggle’s prize possession, a sniper rifle with a night vision scope. Diggle nodded grimly. She got out of the van before he changed his mind, and got out her phone to follow the trackers to Oliver. She soon saw a car parked ahead of her, its headlights illuminating the scene. And what a scene it was.

Moira and Thea were on their knees, with Slade Wilson behind them, holding a sword – it looked like a katana, she thought. Oliver was also on his knees, but facing them, with his back to her. They all had their hands tied behind their backs, and Slade had made sure that Oliver couldn’t get his hands free. She caught the tail end of a conversation, which proved to her that she was just in time – Slade Wilson moved from talking about Shado to talking _to_ Shado, and Felicity shuddered. The man was insane. She put her phone in her pocket, and tucked the syringe into her waistband. She took few deep breaths, and then relaxed. She could do this. She could do this. She was the only one who could do this, so she had to do it. Now.

Felicity sauntered deliberately towards the circle of illumination cast by the headlights, and Thea was the first to spot her, tear-rimmed eyes widening, and her mouth opening in shock. Then Slade saw her, and he raised his blade, causing Oliver to try to turn around, to see what they were looking at. Always attack, she told herself. Come on!

“Is this a private party, or can anyone crash?”

No-one would ever know what it cost her to sound so light and unaffected. Her voice didn’t even tremble. She made sure her hands were visible at her sides, open and empty. There’d been a moment when she’d been considering taking a gun with her, but she knew that Slade Wilson could cut her down before she blinked. No, she’d have to use her head tonight. Oliver and his family depended on it. Close up, Slade Wilson looked absolutely terrifying, his one visible eye full of anger, or insanity, or both.

“Felicity?” Oliver sounded like he didn’t know if he was asleep or awake, and she brutally squashed any feelings for him that were threatening to distract her. Forgive me, my love.

“Shut your mouth!”

She sensed the shock in everyone except Slade, who just gave her a quizzical look. That wasn’t a tone anyone who knew her had ever heard from her. But Slade didn’t know her. He pointed his sword at her, and even in her terror, she was glad it had moved away from Oliver’s mother and sister.

“You . . . you’re his little pet, aren’t you? Always trailing after him, like some lapdog.” He sneered over the last word, stressing it. Oh, you don’t know who I am, Slade Wilson. You’re about to find out.

“I’m the one who just spent two years . . . _two years_ ,” she repeated, her voice rising as she put all she could into the performance, “getting close to this piece of shit, and you mess it all up!”

Thea and Moira stared at her, visibly stunned. She couldn’t risk a glance at Oliver, but she hoped he was doing his best to look pained and betrayed. Slade still looked sceptical, and moved a bit closer to her.

“I know _everything_ he’s done – what’s it got to do with you?”

Oh thank you, she thought. She’d just got her opening.

“Everything?” she repeated, her incredulity, she hoped, not overdone. “Did you know about this?”

She managed to bend over sideways so that he wouldn’t see the syringe, and tore open Oliver’s shirt, exposing the star tattoo on his chest. Her fingers were trembling and she hoped Slade didn’t notice. Oliver was breathing fast, but she didn’t dare look him in the eyes. This had to work. Slade sucked air in through his teeth, and gave a startled bark of laughter.

“The _Bratva?_ No wonder the old man refused my deal!”

Keep going, Felicity, you’ve got him, she thought, and used the opportunity to take a step towards him.

“Do you know what the Bratva do to women who get in their way? Do you?”

Slade shook his head, not because he didn’t know, but because he didn’t buy it, and for a moment she worried that she’d overplayed her hand. But he was still moving closer, and she didn’t think he’d noticed that he was doing it.

“Look. I know the kid’s a killer. Because I made him one. But there’s no way I buy him as a rapist-“

Felicity interrupted him.

“He didn’t choose me!”

She wailed the words into the night, and Slade’s eye widened. “He could have saved me! But instead, he left me there. In hell.”

“And then,” she added, moving closer to Slade, “when I found him again, he didn’t even recognize me. It was so easy to get close to him,” she said, injecting so much scorn into her voice she barely recognized it. With every word she inched her way closer to him, until she was between him and Oliver.

“And now I have him where I want him, where he trusts me, and you want to make his mother pay? And his _sister_? More women have to suffer because of _him?_ ”

She’d said the wrong thing, she realised that immediately. Slade’s attention went back to the women kneeling at his feet, and he was back on his guard. I messed up, she thought. Oh, Oliver, I’m so sorry. But then she heard his voice. And, at first, she thought she was only imagining it, that her wishing it had made it real, that he’d know what she was doing, and that he’d try to distract Slade.

“I can’t believe I trusted you,” Oliver yelled, his voice cracking with fury, “you . . . lying . . . BITCH!”

Slade’s head snapped to the side, his sword lowered, and he was finally, finally off guard. It was like she stood outside herself, and watched, detached, as her arm rose, the syringe in her hand, and sunk it into his neck. He turned to her again, and the look of betrayal in his eye almost made her feel pity. Almost.

It was weird, though. Her mind was going fuzzy. What was the next part of the plan? Oh, right. Get down, so Diggle can take his shot. Her legs folded up, and she collapsed faster than she’d expected, landing painfully on her ass. She looked up and caught the moment when Slade’s head snapped back, and a loud crack made her jump, as his body fell to the ground at her feet.

It was done, she thought, sighing in relief. Slade was dead. Now they could . . . they could . . . she couldn’t remember what they were going to do next, and Oliver yelling at her wasn’t helping, she thought irritably. Was he mad about all the stuff she’d said? Didn’t he know it was just part of the plan? He needed to come over and help her up, not just yell at her. She was sitting in something wet, and she wanted to get up, but her legs weren’t working. And her side felt hot and cold. And the ground was getting colder, and the buzzing in her ears was getting louder. She must have lost a few seconds, because Thea appeared next to her, and pressed her still bound hands hard into her side. The pain was unbearable, and Felicity tried to push her away. She just wanted to rest. Why wouldn’t they let her?

“You have to stay awake, Felicity, do you hear me? Felicity!”

Oliver’s voice sounded hoarse with fear. Why was he so scared? The plan had worked. She just needed some sleep. Just five more minutes, mom. Then I’ll get up, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope the last paragraphs are not too unclear. 
> 
> It always annoyed me on the show, when Oliver _slowly_ explained to Slade that he'd missed something, and then gave a sign to Felicity, who then got up from the floor, injected Slade, and took all the time in the world to get away.
> 
> And the guy who was hopped up on Mirakuru and had been shown to have lightning-fast reflexes just stands there and lets all that happen.
> 
> (That's all apart from the fact that in Unthinkable, Oliver paints a target on Felicity, leaves her to be captured by a crazy person with a sword, and goes off and has an adventure with all his buddies)
> 
> In the next chapter, Oliver will tell us what happened from his p.o.v - I hope it'll be clearer then.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos!

Oliver only _thought_ he felt helpless before, when he woke up, dazed, and completely immobilized, with Slade Wilson holding a sword over his mother and his sister. It had broken his heart to see his mother’s despairing face, and Thea’s shock, when Slade had listed all the crimes Oliver had committed. This new nightmare, though. It was beyond belief.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone crash?”

His first impulse was to ask the others if they heard it, or if he was hallucinating now. That couldn’t be Felicity’s voice. It _couldn’t_. But Thea was looking past him with incomprehension on her face, and now Slade saw her too. Oliver breathed out her name as she walked (no, _sauntered_ , and he desperately wished he was psychic so that he could ask her what the hell she thought she was doing) past where he knelt, but the look she shot him was pure hatred, and she screamed at him to be quiet. He would never tell Felicity this, but for a second . . . maybe a fraction of a second . . . there was, perhaps, a tiny bit of doubt.

But then she turned towards Slade, and he saw it – the syringe in the waistband of her skirt. And he understood everything, and wanted to scream in panic, because why was she doing this? How could Diggle let her do this? He was still reeling when she tore open his shirt to show Slade the Bratva tattoo. Then, when she accused him of not choosing her, he understood fully what her plan was. He waited for his chance to help her, and, when he realised that Slade wasn’t buying it, took it.

“I can’t believe I trusted you,” he took a deep breath, “you lying bitch!”

I’m going to pay for that, later, he thought ruefully, as Slade turned to stare at him, in shock. He saw Felicity sigh in relief as she plunged the syringe into Slade’s neck, but he should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. Time seemed to slow down as Slade whipped his sword back, almost on reflex, and sliced straight into Felicity’s side. Oliver could never remember, afterwards, if he’d screamed or just stared in shock as Felicity sank to the ground, and the loud crack of a high-powered rifle shattered the silence.

Slade collapsed instantly, dead, but Oliver could only focus on Felicity as she sat on the cold ground, a puzzled look on her face. He called her but she didn’t answer. His mother was the first to recover.

“Oliver, I think she’s bleeding – we have to do something!”

His mother’s voice was like a shower of ice cold water over his head. Right. There’d be time for shock, later. He couldn’t get out of his ropes, Slade had made sure of that, but Thea and his mom had only been tied at the wrists.

“Thea! Thea, listen to me!”

She was shaking, like she was going into shock, but they couldn’t afford this right now.

“Thea, you have to get your hands in front of you! I know you can do it!”

Thea’s eyes were full of tears, but she nodded, resolutely. The seconds passed like hours as she brought her wrists down under her backside, and first slid one leg, then the other over them. She looked at him again, for further instructions, it seemed.

“Now go put pressure on the wound – can you see where he stabbed her?”

Thea scrambled over to Felicity and pushed hard into her side. Felicity cried out in pain, trying to shove her away, and Oliver felt his stomach churn. He tried to get his legs under him to get up, and had almost succeeded when Diggle came racing up, followed by Roy. What the hell was Roy doing here? That wasn’t important right now, he thought.

“Diggle, untie me!”

Diggle assessed the situation with one glance, cutting Oliver loose while taking out his phone. He knelt next to Felicity and checked her pulse. Felicity slapped his hand away irritably, while Oliver lurched over, dropping to his knees beside her, taking over from Thea. Felicity gasped in pain.

“Oliver . . . what’s going on?”

Behind her glasses, her eyes were cloudy and unfocused, and he wished he could hold her in his arms, but he had to keep pressure on the wound. Diggle had cut Thea’s wrists free and now went to his mom to do the same. Oliver yelled at Roy to support her back while he pushed as hard as he could into her side.

“Felicity . . . honey . . . Slade stabbed you. “

He looked at her, and realised she was giving him a watery smile.

“You never called me honey before . . . “

He tried to return her smile, but his lips were stiff with fear. He could feel blood seeping out from between his fingers. She winced.

“Ow.”

Oliver was starting to get frantic. Diggle crouched down next to them, trying to assess the damage, while on the phone to the police.

“I think it’s superficial – she’s losing a lot of blood, though. I don’t like it.”

Oliver couldn’t hold back any longer.

“What the hell is she doing here, Digg? How could you let her do this?”

Oliver happened to be looking at Roy at the time, and noticed him wincing. Thea shook her head, and Diggle rolled his eyes.

“Let me?” That was Felicity, and boy, was she mad. “No one _lets me_ do anything, Oliver. If you’re not careful, I’m not gonna be letting you –“

She bit back the rest, and looked around her, the anger waking her out of her daze.

“It was a plan, Oliver, and it worked.”

Oliver stared at her in disbelief, involuntarily pushing harder on her side. He hadn’t thought it was possible for her to lose more colour, but she did. He tried to control himself, though it wasn’t easy.

“ _This_ is what you call ‘working’?” He was pretty sure his voice went really high at the end. He could hear Diggle arguing with someone on his mobile, agreeing that yes, there’d been a gunshot, but the problem was neutralized, and in the meantime, someone was bleeding out, here. Everyone looked at him in horror, and he made a placatory gesture with his hand. Oliver understood – Diggle was overstating it. Though Felicity hadn’t stopped bleeding. Her eyes were starting to lose focus, and he tried to catch her attention.

“Hey.”

She looked at him, and tried to smile.

“Hey.”

They were interrupted by a helicopter buzzing them, lighting up the scene with a powerful searchlight. Then, a few seconds later, police officers swarmed the scene, followed by EMTs holding a stretcher. They quickly and methodically pushed Oliver away and started working on Felicity, asking her questions, and seemed satisfied with the answers. Oliver let the jargon wash over him. He stared at his hands. They were covered with blood. Felicity’s blood. He looked around him, fighting a sudden feeling of disconnect. The whole scene was like a movie set – his mother was at the side, talking to Lance, Diggle was giving the EMTs some more details about what had happened, and Roy was holding Thea, stroking her hair. It was what he wanted to do to Felicity, except he had to let her be taken care of by someone else. He looked at his hands again. So much blood. How could she be ok?

“Mr Queen? Mr Queen!”

It was one of the EMTs. His lips were moving, but Oliver was finding it hard to focus on what he was saying. Diggle was at his side, suddenly.

“Hey, man. You ok?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’re taking her to hospital. Like I thought, it doesn’t look like he hit any arteries. But it needs to be assessed by a doctor, and she’s lost some blood.”

Oliver nodded, and pulled himself together with an effort. The EMTs were carrying the stretcher to a waiting ambulance, and loaded her in with a minimum of fuss. He climbed into the ambulance and crouched next to her, stroking her face. She looked at him, dazed from the pain. Somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t here in the ambulance with Felicity, he heard a mobile phone ring. He ignored it, but Felicity tried to sit up.

“Oliver . . . “

Diggle handed the phone to Oliver, who at first wanted to give it back. Felicity’s glare said otherwise, and she told him to put it on speaker. He grabbed it impatiently, wondering what could be so important right now. As soon as he heard Kalika’s panicky voice, he realised something was very wrong.

“ . . . they’re coming in, Oliver! We’re in the panic room, but they know it’s here! I don’t know what to do!”

Felicity’s eyes widened in horror.

“Kalika, slow down! Who’s coming in?”

“I don’t know! We can see them on the security cameras, but they’re all wearing strange masks. Though I think one of them’s a woman – somehow they phoned one of the office staff in here with us. They said they’re going to use explosives, Oliver!”

He had to go. He knew that. But how could he leave her? First things first, he had to reassure Kalika.

“Listen . . . the police are _here_. I’ll explain everything, and they’ll be on their way.” He nodded to Diggle, who immediately headed towards Lance. “You need to calm down, Kalika. Listen, is Rosa there with you?”

There was an indrawn breath, like she was going to yell at him. But then she seemed to calm down. Oliver and Diggle exchanged a look, and Oliver took the phone off speaker. Rosa had been a sergeant in the army, and could be relied on to keep everyone calm if she was allowed to take charge. He gave Diggle the phone, and tuned out his muttered conversation, preferring to focus on Felicity instead, desperately wishing he didn’t have to do this.

“Go, Oliver. “

“I can’t leave you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Are you a trauma surgeon? Did you get your medical degree on the island?”

“Felicity . . .”

She smiled at him through her pain.

“You have to go. She’s counting on you. They’re all counting on you.”

The EMT murmured something about them really needing to go to the hospital, and Oliver ignored him, and shook his head. Felicity grabbed his shoulder and shook it, then pulled him down so that she could whisper in his ear. He expected an endearment, or one of her speeches to psych him up. What he got was different, though he should have expected it.

“Remember, the needs of the many outweigh-“

He pulled back like he’d been stung.

“Felicity!”

She managed to giggle through tears.

“With great power comes great responsibility? No?”

He shook his head, mouthing ‘no’. A hand on his arm made him jump, and he looked to his side. Great. Badass vigilante lets his mom sneak up on him – that didn’t sound like a title which would sell a lot of comic books. He knuckled the tears away hurriedly.

“Oliver . . . darling. She needs a doctor. And you have to help . . . the company,” she continued, raising her eyebrows and stressing the last word. He felt a sudden wave of affection for his mother. She had no problem coming across as Queen Bitch if it was for her family. When he looked at Felicity again she was nodding, and holding a hand out for him to come closer, whispering frantically in his ear.

“Don’t leave me with her! Kidding, kidding.”

God, how was she so brave. He put his forehead against hers, and then kissed her, a chaste kiss which grew deeper by the second, until someone cleared his throat behind him. He stroked her hair one last time and turned on his heel and got out of the ambulance, walking towards Diggle. Behind him, he could hear Thea asking why he had to go, and his mother murmuring something in response.

The doors to the ambulance slammed shut, and it drove off. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. Lance had watched the whole exchange, and now approached.

“We found some unconscious guys wearing masks – were they with the dead guy?”

Diggle looked at Oliver, but Oliver didn’t trust himself to speak, yet.

“Yeah. The rest of them are mounting an attack on Queen Consolidated. They’re all hopped up on the same stuff that guy was on, the one who put your men in the hospital last year.”

Lance’s face hardened.

“Then I guess that’s where we’re headed. You better tell your _friend_ with the arrows to meet us there. And don’t tell me _he’s_ coming along too,” he continued, nodding at Roy, who was standing with his arms folded, looking determined.

Oliver was still thinking about Felicity, so he only waved distractedly at Lance as he moved towards Roy, who didn’t even let him move a few paces before he spoke.

“Hell yes I’m coming with you-“

Oliver finally got close enough, and clapped a hand over Roy’s mouth. Looking back, he saw that Lance had gone to get everyone moving, and was out of earshot. He grabbed Roy by the shoulders.

“I don’t know what you know, and how you know it, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t announce it to the world!”

Roy scoffed.

“You really think Lance doesn’t know?”

“This is for _him_ , Roy! He needs plausible deniability!”

Roy winced and nodded. He obviously hadn’t thought of that.

“It’s just . . . some of these guys were my friends, you know? And now they’ll be going to jail . . . or dying, because this asshole used them for his science experiment.”

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder.

“Let’s see what we can do for them, then. Let’s cure them first, and see if we can help them with legal problems later. And no-one’s gonna die tonight, Roy.”

They’d reached the van, and Oliver opened the lockbox where he kept a spare suit. Diggle raised his eyebrows as Roy gawked openly at the hood, the bow and arrows. Oliver shrugged. If he knew, he couldn’t unknow it. Diggle shook his head, smiling, as he went to the front. They drove towards QC, and Oliver started getting changed. He had a moment of disconnect when he took his shirt off. It was covered with Felicity’s blood. Just like his hands.

“Hey.”

He looked up, and Roy was holding a box of wipes, which Felicity must have stashed in the van when she’d come along. He managed to put aside the fear, for now, and started cleaning himself off.

“Can you fight?”

Roy, who’d been lost in thought, started, and looked up at him.

“Yeah. I tranqed a few guys with that antidote stuff too – I mean, I can use a gun.”

Oliver nodded as he started putting on the suit. Roy stared at him unabashedly as he put the hood on. The harness for the quiver came over it, and finally, the mask. He clipped the voice modulator on and put in the earpiece.

“I’ll take all the arrows with antidote, you and Diggle share the tranq darts. Try to avoid fighting them unless you’ve shot them – I don’t need any more of the team in the hospital.”

Oliver turned away, but not before he saw the blinding smile on Roy’s face. He had to hide a smile of his own. Good thing the kid seemed to live in hoodies, which would shadow his face a little. Though red was kind of showy.

They’d been driving for a few minutes, when Diggle braked hard, almost sending the both of them to the floor. When Oliver went to the front to ask him what was going on, Diggle pointed wordlessly at a figure dressed from head to toe in black, slinking through the shadows. It was clearly a tall woman with long blond hair. Or was it a wig? Her face caught the stray beams from a street lamp, and Oliver recognized the features under the black mask she had on. It was like a bomb went off in his head, and he propelled himself out of the van and landed in front of her, with no clear memory of how he got there. What was _with_ the women in his life and putting themselves in danger? Her eyes widened as she saw the look on his face.

“What the actual fuck, Laurel?”

Laurel pouted and folded her arms.

“Thanks for telling everyone my secret identity, Mr Arrow, sir!”

Oliver sighed and almost rubbed his eyes. Just in time, he remembered the mask and the greasepaint.

“There’s no-one here,” he answered, gesturing to the empty street. “Just . . . what _is_ this?”

Laurel leaned towards him, visible annoyed.

“You’re not the boss of me. And you don’t have a monopoly on dressing up in leather and fighting crime.”

Oliver threw his hands in the air.

“Ok! Fine! Though if your dad finds out, you know he’ll blame me, as usual.”

Laurel shrugged, indicating that she was ok with that. Then she seemed to remember something.

“How is . . . how is she? I heard it on the police scanner.”

Oliver gnawed on his lower lip, unsure how to answer.

“They took her to the hospital – mom and Thea are with her. She . . . she told me to go.” He looked at Laurel, feeling like he was seeking her approval. Her eyes grew warm behind her mask, and she gave him a hint of a smile.

“Come on, Arrow. Let’s save your people.”

Oliver nodded, and they both climbed into the van. They were close enough to the Queen Consolidated building that they could plan for their entry. Oliver took charge, directing Diggle, Laurel, and Roy to go in through the parking garage.

“How are you getting in?” Laurel asked. Roy looked puzzled, too. Diggle only smirked.

“He’s taking his shortcut.”

Ten minutes later, Oliver observed the executive floor of the QC building through a night-vision scope, from his vantage point on the roof of the building opposite. It was as Kalika had said – the lobby which hid the panic room was full of men in strange, bicoloured masks, and one smaller figure. They clearly knew where the hidden recessed door was, and they were packing the opening with plastic explosive. Oliver gritted his teeth, and prepared his antidote arrows. He fired a zipline arrow into the wall, attaching the other end of the line to a girder. And away he went, tearing down the line at an ever increasing speed, and shooting through the window before smashing it with his boots. He landed on top of one of Slade’s men, and stabbed him with an arrow instead of firing it. The others turned to stare for a second before rushing him, and the next few minutes were a blur – he nocked and fired, nocked and fired, trying to bring them down with kicks so that he wouldn’t have to use his bow to punch them out. Throughout, Isabel Rochev was like a whirling dervish with attached blades, and he was thankful for his suit which protected him from the worst of them. Finally, he’d dealt with all the lesser thugs, and loosed his last arrow into her, feeling a certain satisfaction at her wounded cry when she realised that the arrow wasn’t meant to kill. She ripped off her mask, gasping for air, and fixed him with a look of pure hatred.

“So, which one did he kill? Your bitch of a mother, or your whore of a sister?”

Oliver couldn’t supress a smile, and didn’t want to.

“You mean you don’t know? You’ve lost, Isabel. Your mentor is dead. And he killed _no-one."_

“You’re lying, you piece of shit!”

She launched herself at him, screaming, but without the Mirakuru fuelling her, she was no match for him. He felt a tiny pang of regret, though, when he punched her hard in the face, sending her slamming against a column.

Diggle ran through the stairway door, gun held in front of him, closely followed by Roy and Laurel. Oliver pointed to Isabel.

“Cover her – we need to have a look at those explosives.” His last words were aimed at Diggle, who nodded and holstered his gun.

Laurel crouched down near Isabel’s slumped figure, as Diggle looked at the C4, tracing wires and murmuring under his breath.

“She’s kind of tiny, Ol- I mean, Arrow,” she added, raising her eyebrows. Oliver did his best not to cringe.

“She didn’t look that tiny when she was waving those swords in my face.”

Diggle interrupted them.

“Hey. Nothing’s connected here. You can open the door.”

Oliver nodded, and quickly called Kalika, just as Diggle heard something on his earpiece.

“Cops are here, Arrow. Lance is asking if they can use the elevators.”

Oliver had just finished reassuring Kalika that the coast was clear, and that she and the others could come out, when the hidden door opened. Kalika and Rosa came out, the latter calmer than the former, whose composure seemed to be hanging by a thread. Rosa had overheard the last exchange, and assured that the elevators were clear. Oliver turned to Diggle.

“Tell the Detective that he can bring his men up in the elevators.” He directed the rest at the office staff who’d been trapped in the panic room for hours.

“The police are here to take you home.” In a more normal tone of voice, he turned to Laurel and Roy. “We’re going to take the stairs and check out the other floors. As head of security, Diggle can stay here and liaise with the police.”

Just as Diggle nodded, a furious voice interrupted the muted hubbub. All eyes turned to Isabel, who’d woken up in the meantime.

“Do you think I’m going to keep quiet about who you are? You’re going to jail-“

Isabel broke off with a gurgle, the black shaft of an arrow protruding from her neck. Stunned, Oliver looked towards the window, and saw the silhouette of another archer, this one dressed from head to toe in a strange black costume. Malcolm Merlyn’s angry eyes met his, and Oliver was tempted to shoot back. They didn’t need this right now. But Rosa had her eye on the cameras covering the elevator shafts, and hurriedly whispered that the police would be on their floor any second now. So he grabbed Roy and Laurel by the arms and dragged them towards the stairwell. Laurel just had time for one last breathless question.

“The Dark Archer?”

“A copycat,” Oliver answered, grimly.

Walking through the darkened corridors of his own company, arrow nocked, was a strange experience. Everything seemed unfamiliar, and he wondered if he was doing this for nothing. But he couldn’t be sure that stray Mirakuru soldiers hadn’t rigged the place, and he _wanted_ to be sure. When his earpiece came to life, he expected to hear Diggle telling him that the coast was clear, and that the police were gone. Instead, it was someone he’d never expected to hear while wearing his mask.

“Ollie?”

His sister’s voice was shaky, as if she couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“Thea?”

His voice almost cracked with disbelief.

“Felicity gave me her microphone before she was seen by the doctors. She said to tell you she’s ok, she’s being stitched up, and they want to keep her overnight because she lost so much blood.”

Oliver swallowed, gritting his teeth. He should be there.

“She also said to stop worrying,” Thea continued, with just the right amount of fond exasperation. “And then she said that it’s just a flesh wound, and she started giggling. They must be giving her the good stuff.”

Oliver had to clear his throat before he could answer.

“No, she’s always like that. It’s one of the reasons I . . . “

His voice petered out. Thea took pity on him.

“Yeah, I kind of got that. Listen, Ollie . . . are you . . . wearing green right now?”

She hissed the last theatrically, probably managing to be louder than if she’d spoken normally. Well, at least she was trying, he thought. And it wasn’t like there was anyone in the immediate vicinity who didn’t know he was the Arrow.

“Yes.”

He could hear her take a few shaky breaths.

“Ok. Ok. Wow. We are going to talk about this, big brother. But, for the record . . . thank you.”

He froze in shock. She was thanking him? For what? For almost getting her killed? She waited for a few seconds for him to answer. When he didn’t, she continued.

“I gotta go – they’re taking Felicity to her room. Mom’s been playing the ‘my son’s fiancée’ card all night long.”

Oliver couldn’t help a pleased smile.

“I told Felicity mom would love her – I don’t know why she was so scared.”

Thea sounded puzzled too.

“I know, right? Roy’s the same – that last time I told him to come to dinner with us, he kept saying ‘It’s a trap!’ in a weird voice.”

Oliver hid a smile. He got that reference, now. Thea signed off, and Oliver patrolled the darkened corridors more light-heartedly than before. He’d given up on finding any more of Slade’s men by the time he reached the lobby level, so he wasn’t expecting the man who was hiding behind the door to the stairwell. Filled with rage, the Mirakuru soldier got in a punch which sent Oliver crashing into the railing. He managed to get the tranq gun out and shot off a dart – but this guy must have been an exception to the general rule, because it took the sedative longer to work than on the others. One of his last flailing kicks caught Oliver in the knee, which exploded into agony. Oliver’s relief at the fact that none of his team was there to hear him shriek like a baby was lessened by Diggle’s voice echoing down the stairwell.

“Hey, Arrow! You ok, man?”

Oliver moaned in response, hoping that Diggle understood him. The stairwell resounded with pounding footsteps, and Oliver felt better once Diggle was next to him. He opened his eyes to Digg’s worried face, shaking his head.

“Oliver, we need to get those pants off,” he hissed. “Otherwise we’re gonna have to cut them off, and I don’t have anything that can cut leather.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. Diggle rolled his eyes.

“Ok, some of those guys had sharp swords. Which I’m sure you want to have so close to your junk.”

Diggle lifted Oliver up and helped him hobble to the van, where Roy and Laurel were already waiting. This time Diggle had a plan – they would put Oliver back in his suit, and take him to the hospital, with the story that Slade had messed up Oliver’s knee when he kidnapped him. Oliver was in so much pain he only got bits and pieces of the plan, and almost fainted when they pulled his pants off. Putting his suit pants back on was even worse.

Getting in the emergency room was a blur, and Oliver was glad it was a slow night – he was embarrassed already at letting that guy get the drop on him, cutting in line at the emergency room was even worse. The admitting doctor hummed and hawed and injected him with something, Oliver didn’t care what. All he cared was that the pain went and hid behind some cotton wool in his head, and Oliver felt he could think for the first time since it happened. He was put in a wheelchair and scheduled for an x-ray, after which he insisted on seeing Felicity.

She was asleep when he rolled himself in, and he quickly checked over the machines she was attached to – blood pressure seemed ok, and she seemed to be breathing normally. She looked pale, he thought. He gently took the hand which wasn’t attached to the drip, and rubbed her fingers. They rubbed back. He quickly lifted his head to see her quirky smile – he could tell by the screwed up eyes that he was just a blur to her.

“They took my glasses,” she pouted. Then her eyes widened. “Is that a wheelchair? Oliver!”

Oliver rubbed his face.

“When I was _kidnapped_ ,” he stressed, with a look towards the door, “one of Slade’s men kicked my knee.”

She squeezed his fingers, and then her look of sympathy turned wicked.

“So, it’s me on top for a few weeks, hmm?” she murmured.

“Felicity!” he hissed. “My _mom_ could come in any second!”

Felicity raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, your mom’s on tv!”

The television on the other side of the room was showing a live news transmission of a press conference on the steps of the hospital. His mother’s press conference. At the edge of the screen, he could see Diggle staring fiercely into the camera, daring anyone to come after Moira Queen. He felt he could relax for a few minutes, and glanced at Felicity, who was looking at him fondly. He rolled the chair closer to the bed, and managed to lever himself up on his good leg. She used the controls to get her bed into a sitting position, and they met in a kiss, which started out loving and gentle, and quickly escalated until he desperately wanted to tear her clothes off and sink into her. They pulled apart, breathing heavily, staring at each other until a twinge from his knee sent him staggering back into the wheelchair. She sighed and made the bed recline again.

Oliver settled back and twined his fingers through hers. Later, he would tell her about Isabel, and the apparently eternal problem that was Malcolm Merlyn, but right now, they could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," is, of course, a quote from Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan (what, you thought I was going to say 'Into Darkness'? Look, the new guys are very pretty and all, but for real substance, we need to look elsewhere. Also, Ricardo Montalban).
> 
> See, one evening Felicity is browsing for a Starfleet uniform dress in her size, and Oliver is looking at the screen over her shoulder, which she hates, and he says, "Oh, I saw that movie - the spaceship goes underwater, right?" And Felicity glares at him and immediately downloads The Wrath of Khan and makes him watch it. She's pretty sure he's crying during _that_ scene.
> 
> I like Moira Queen. A lot. And I hate when the show pits women against each other, just because. So, Moira Queen lives! Does she realise what Felicity means to Oliver? We'll see in the next chapter, shall we?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's wonderful response!
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is more of an interlude - Felicity waits, in hospital. Also, Moira wants to talk.

When they finally persuaded Oliver out of the ambulance, Felicity waited for the doors to slam shut before she lay back and closed her eyes for a second. The whole thing was surreal. Here she was, stabbed through the side, in an ambulance with Oliver’s sister. And Moira Queen, Lady Macbeth herself. That wasn’t fair, though. She wasn’t that bad. One of the EMTs asked her if she was feeling faint, and she shook her head and winced, as the movement pulled at her wound. She opened her eyes again, and Thea was looking at her, puzzled. Felicity felt bad for her – she probably felt like her life was coming apart. Thea opened her mouth to speak, and stopped. Moira had put a hand on her arm.

“Later, dear.”

Wow, she sounded almost loving. Her inner voice turned exasperated. You could like the woman a little, seeing as you essentially saved her life. Excuse me, she thought. She’d been doing everything for Oliver. Though he’d be devastated if anything happened to his mother or sister, so . . . oh, whatever. What’s done is done.

The trip to the hospital was over in no time, and the admittance to the emergency ward passed in a crazy blur. She suddenly realized that they’d be taking off her shirt to treat her, and quickly took the mic out of her bra, and grabbed Thea’s hand, putting it in there. Her eyes widened, and Felicity looked up quickly to check that the hospital staff was still being harangued by Moira Queen. Oh yes, Felicity could hear her in the distance – someone at admittance had dared ask whether Felicity had insurance. Moira had immediately proclaimed that her son’s fiancée (huh?) would have everything paid for (what?). That was news to Felicity: both parts.

She grabbed Thea’s arm, pulling her down before whispering urgently, “It’s a microphone. You can use it to talk to Oliver.”

Thea was staring at the tiny bit of tech when they wheeled Felicity away. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, to explain, and, to be honest, didn’t want to. She felt that she’d earned some rest, and so she let all the jargon wash over her – the whole examination, and stitches, urgh. She must have zoned out a little, because when she was fully conscious again, she was wearing a hospital gown, and was in a private room, hooked up to an IV line and a blood pressure machine. A harried looking doctor was striding in, reading her chart.

“You’ve been extremely luck, young lady. An inch to the right and the . . . sword,” he said, his eyes widening, “might have nicked your lung.”

Felicity nodded, yawning.

“We’re keeping you under observation for tonight. You can go home in the morning. Will there be someone to help you change the dressing?”

Felicity opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

“Of course. She’ll be staying with us. That won’t be a problem.”

Moira Queen strikes again, Felicity thought. Moira gave Felicity a warning look, and she waited until the doctor had left to register her (meek) protest.

“I’ll be alright on my own, Mrs Queen.”

“Please call me Moira – and I won’t take no for an answer.” She relented when she saw Felicity’s mutinous look. “Just until you feel better . . . do you honestly think Oliver will want to let you out of his sight for now?”

Felicity sighed. “I guess not.”

“I don’t know if you’re feeling up to it – but the police would like to talk to you.” Moira looked at her closely, and shook her head. “I’ll tell them they’ll have to wait.”

Felicity nodded, yawning again. What was the point, anyway? Slade Wilson was dead, thank God. Something occurred to her, then.

“Uh. This is going to sound awkward, but what have you told them?”

Moira beamed, and it was so unlike her usual expression that Felicity was taken aback.

“We edited the story slightly – you were coming home with us when we were kidnapped. Slade Wilson stabbed you, but luckily Mr Diggle, our head of Security, had managed to track us down.”

Mr Diggle? Those were her trackers! Her annoyance must have shown on her face, because Moira’s softened. She was just about to speak, when there was a knock at the door.

“Mrs Queen? There’s some people from the press gathering in front of the hospital.”

Moira patted Felicity’s hand and left, and Felicity yawned so widely she was afraid her jaw would crack. She was so tired, but really wanted to wait until Oliver got here before she dropped off. She knew that rationally she should be worried about him, but her exhaustion wouldn’t let her process the feeling. The third time her eyes fell shut, she decided she’d just rest her eyes for a few seconds. A minute or two, tops.

_Felicity relives the walk towards Slade Wilson over and over in her sleep – again and again, she stabs him with the syringe, and he stabs her in turn, and dies._

_There’s a confused moment when she’s not sure whether she’s dreaming or awake, and in a shadowy corner of her hospital room, a man stands wearing a black hooded outfit, a black quiver full of black arrows on his back, holding a black bow. Her dream self considers this overkill. His rumbly voice comes from the corner, and annoys her. Why is he bothering with the disguise? She knows it’s Malcolm Merlyn. “I am in your debt, Felicity Smoak. You saved my daughter’s life. Ask me, and I will repay.” She isn’t sure of what she tells him, and she hopes it’s not something like, “Get out of my dream, Thea’s creepy dad.”_

_After he melts away into the shadows, Oliver steps out of them. He’s shirtless, and holding a bottle of red wine in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other. He gives her one of his half-smiles, and grabs her hand, rubbing her fingers._

Felicity woke up, slowly, glad that the last part of her dream was real – though later, she’d better tell Oliver about the Malcolm Merlyn part, in case that was real too. She gradually registered that he was in a wheelchair, his leg stretched out in front of him. The explanation didn’t make sense until she parsed his look towards the door – so one of the Mirakuru men at QC got the drop on him? She made a vaguely suggestive remark, and enjoyed watching him get flustered – he only did that when she turned him on. She liked turning him on. The kiss that followed was amazing and frustrating at the same time, and the worst part was that they couldn’t do anything about it. After that, she was aching and he was hard, if the way he was angling his arm in his lap was any indication.

She watched him doze off, but she was fully awake now, and she kept watching the press conference on mute. Moira looked good up there; strong, and determined. Maybe she’d make a good mayor, who knew. Soon after, Thea and Moira entered her room, and woke Oliver. Thea poked him in the shoulder, grinning.

“Wake up, Oliver – x-ray’s ready for you.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need . . .”

Thea rolled her eyes. “You’re not on an island anymore, Ollie. Here, in civilisation, we have hospitals, where we treat injuries . . . ”

Her voice faded away as she wheeled him out of the room, and Felicity had to bite her lip to suppress a smile.

“You go ahead, Thea, I’ll catch up in a minute.” Moira’s face was serious when she turned back to Felicity, and she froze. Oh no, here it goes. I ain’t saying she a gold-digger, Moira Queen style. Moira sat down next to her bed, and Felicity instinctively straightened up, wishing she was wearing her glasses. Sometimes they felt like armour.

“There’s something I need to know . . . Felicity.” Moira hesitated before saying her name, and Felicity rushed into the following pause.

“Is this where you ask me what my intentions are regarding your son? Because I . . .”

Moira Queen was already shaking her head, though. “Oh no, my dear. I don’t need to ask your intentions. You put yourself between my children and a sword wielded by a madman. For that alone, you’ve put me in debt I can never repay.”

Felicity looked at her, puzzled. Then what was this all about?

“You told Slade Wilson about meeting Oliver in Russia. Even though I understand it was a ruse . . . what you said . . . the _way_ you said it, had the ring of truth about it.” Moira looked at her, pleading, and at first Felicity didn’t understand what she wanted.

Then it hit her. The things she’d said to Slade, about Oliver . . . horrible things. She had to fix this – fast.

“No, no, no . . . I needed something to distract Wilson from you . . . from you and Thea.” She bit her lip, trying to think. “Oliver . . . he _saved_ me. I got into trouble, and he was there. He didn’t even know me, and he saved my life. He lost a year, because of me. If I hadn’t met him, I’d be dead right now.”

A puzzled line formed between Moira’s eyebrows. “He does have that tattoo, though. I know what it means. When I first saw his tattoos, which I knew very well he didn’t have before, it was as though I didn’t know my son anymore. Sometimes he’s so cold, so distant . . . there are times when I’m afraid of what he’s capable of. Others when he’s still my beautiful boy . . . I know it’s selfish of me, but . . .” Moira trailed off, staring into space.

Felicity knew what she wanted, though. She’d thought Oliver’d been through all this with his mom – now she realized it had been too much to expect of Mr BroodyPants, to actually _tell_ anyone about what he’d been through. You know, Oliver, she thought, one day you’re going to have to grow up . . . and _share_. Ugh. Share? Really? What kind of drugs were they giving her?

“I’ve never told anyone the whole story,” Felicity answered, unable to meet Moira’s eyes. How could this rich and pampered woman possibly understand what it felt like to have no choices, no safety net?

“I’d like to hear it, Felicity.” Moira’s voice was gentle, and Felicity wondered if she was being sincere. She had to tell her, though – Felicity couldn’t bear it if Moira spent even one second thinking of Oliver as some kind of rapist or pimp. Not after everything he’d done, after everything he’d been through. Felicity chewed on her lower lip as she wondered how she was going to do this, where to start, what to leave out.

As she thought, and Moira waited patiently, the images on the silent tv set changed from the outside of the hospital to the lobby of Queen Consolidated, where handcuffed men in boiler suits were being led out by the police. Then the scene changed again to the steps of City Hall, in which, according to the scrolling text, Sebastian Blood was being arraigned on the charges of conspiracy to commit murder, among others.

Felicity came to a decision. She’d start at the beginning – her mother’s illness. Maybe that was something Moira would understand. As she started talking, she felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders – and she hadn’t even known it was there. Letting go of the past was the right idea, she thought. Maybe now she and Oliver could have a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is almost over, guys. 
> 
> Just one chapter left after this one - one last way in which Oliver tries to mess up the good thing he has with Felicity. Oh, _Oliver_.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, everyone! Thanks so much for staying with this story! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and commented, or left kudos! you're all amazing!
> 
> End notes contain spoilers.

The morning after they took down a huge shipment of RPGs, Oliver walked towards Verdant with a spring in his step. He could hardly believe it had been almost five months since they’d taken care of Slade and neutralised the Mirakuru threat in one go.

Felicity had ended up only spending a few weeks at the mansion – she’d said she needed her own place to recharge, and he’d agreed. It had been slightly weird to come down for breakfast to find the three women closest to him already there. He wasn’t a particular fan of how the conversation sometimes stopped abruptly as soon as he entered the room. Plus, even when her wound was better, and his knee stopped being a ball of agony, they couldn’t have sex at the mansion, in his bedroom. He remembered Felicity being particularly inhibited.

“It’s just – I know this place is huge, and your mom can’t hear anything, but it just gives me a weird feeling, you know?” She’d been looking at him earnestly, and he was forced to agree.

Maybe it was time he found his own place – he was going to be thirty soon. He had the money. There was another reason he felt he needed to move out of the mansion, though. Not just his sex life. Something else.

It had been on Oliver’s mind for a few weeks. He woke up thinking about it, and it was the last thing on his mind before he went to sleep. He’d made plans. He’d checked that Felicity was free, and had booked dinner at Luigi’s, after making sure their kitchen was equipped to handle a life-threatening nut allergy.

Felicity’d looked at him curiously, and maybe he’d given something away with his careful preparations. Maybe he should have just asked her there and then, in the foundry. He’d pictured it: he’d get down on one knee, and give her the ring that was burning a hole in his pocket. Then he heard the locks open, and Roy came trooping down the stairs, and the moment passed.

Roy now had his own suit, and they’d been through months of training with his own bow, until he was at least competent with it. Oliver hadn’t tried the water-slapping technique, though. The kid was too jittery for that sort of thing. He was fine at the bow without Shado’s training, and he was useful in a fight. The parkour was a bit excessive though. Oliver shrugged mentally as he opened the door to the club. Everyone had their own style.

“Thea?” His voice echoed in the empty room, and Oliver frowned.

He was pretty sure he’d seen her car parked outside, so he’d expected her to be doing inventory, or other paperwork, but she wasn’t there. Felicity hadn’t been at QC when he’d passed by, and in fact, the Mini Cooper was parked around the corner. What were they all doing here? He looked at his phone, but there were no missed calls, so it couldn’t have been some emergency.

When Oliver opened the door to the foundry, he listened to the sounds coming from below with some disbelief. He came down the stairs slowly, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Roy and Thea were sparring, and had been training for a while, it looked like. Diggle was there too, and Felicity . . . they’d taken over a second mat, and he was showing her some kicks. As Oliver watched, mouth gaping, Diggle instructed Felicity to hold her position, and then he raised her leg higher.

“This way you won’t hit his ribcage, which is hard to get through – you’ll smash his jaw instead!” Diggle sounded like he’d enjoy watching such a thing.

“Whose jaw?” Felicity asked, a certain satisfaction in her tone.

“Anyone who messes with you, girl.”

Diggle spotted him, and when Felicity saw his face, her own expression turned guilty. Then defensive, and she crossed her arms.

“You didn’t want to train me!” He flashed back to a number of arguments about the issue, most of them after Slade had sliced into her side.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt!” Oliver winced. Was that too patronising?

“That makes no sense, Ollie.” Thea just sounded smug.

He glared to his left, where his kid sister had moved from sparring to – ugh. He did not need to see that. Diggle spotted her and Roy at the same time.

“We have a rule, and you know that. So stop it.”

Rather sulkily, Thea disengaged from her boyfriend, who looked at Oliver sheepishly, mouthing ‘sorry’. Oliver waved it off.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask who else was there – if he went around the corner, would he find his mom using the heavy bag? Or sparring with Laurel? No, that was ridiculous – his mom was in her new office at City Hall, and Laurel was preparing for Sebastian Blood’s trial.

Instead of making any sarcastic remarks, which wasn’t one of his skills, anyway, he grabbed Felicity’s hand, and squeezed it.

“It’s ok.” Shit, now it sounded like she needed his approval. “I’m sorry.”

Something occurred to him. How come Diggle was here? Lyla was due any day now. He looked at Diggle, opening his mouth to ask, but John was ahead of him.

“She told me I was hovering, and to go blow off some steam. She’d call me when it was time, or whenever she wanted ice cream.” Digg shrugged, trying to convey the sentiment of ‘women, right?’, without actually saying it.

Oliver smiled, and Felicity wound her arms round his neck.

“So, are we still on for tonight?” When he nodded, she continued. “Hey. You never told me what the occasion was.”

He tried not to look shifty. “Do we need an occasion to go out on a date?”

Felicity gave him a knowing look – she always knew when he was trying to hide something. Then she let it go, and when Diggle’s back was turned, planted a long, lingering kiss on his lips, adding a look that promised him much more besides. He wished his sweater was longer in front, and she moved away with a smirk. He spent the afternoon working out, and trying not to wince at the thought of Felicity sparring with Diggle. Though if there ever was a man who could pull his punches, that was the one.

When the newly promoted Captain Lance called about dealing with stragglers from the gang responsible for the arms shipments, Oliver offered to go on his own. Diggle was going home, and Thea had roped Roy in to go shopping with her. Oliver ignored Roy’s pleading eyes, and told them to have a good time, it’d be fine.

So Oliver suited up and took down the lone gunrunner with suspicious ease. Though it didn’t seem suspicious at the time. He told himself that they couldn’t _all_ be criminal masterminds plotting to take over the city.

When he arrived at Luigi’s, and changed his clothes, stashing the bag with the Arrow suit and his bow in the dumbwaiter, Felicity was already waiting for him. She got up and he froze – she looked so beautiful with her hair down, wearing an amazing red dress which he was sure he’d never seen before – he wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and find a bed. Or a wall. He swallowed, feeling for the ring again and crushed her to him, kissing her more gently than he actually wanted to. She smiled back, putting a hand on his chest. He decided to keep things light, for now.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he started, and then couldn’t hold back a chuckle when she nodded vigorously.

“Starving! Really really hungry – I told myself not to eat so I’d still have an appetite tonight, but then I miscalculated, and – are you laughing at me?”

“No, of course not! Please, go on.” His lips twitched, though.

The maitre d’ came around to ask for their drinks orders. Even though he wanted to order champagne, that would make Felicity _really_ suspicious. So he ordered the red wine he knew she loved. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, obviously suspecting something, but she didn’t comment. He was about to ask her how training with Diggle had gone, when he realised the low-level whistle he’d been hearing came from outside the restaurant, and was approaching fast. He’d just managed to cover Felicity with his body when the world exploded.

The ringing in his ears woke him. It was difficult to remember where he was, what he’d been doing. He opened his eyes to a half ruined chandelier hanging above him, and it came to him – dinner. With Felicity. The panic spurred him upright, and he looked frantically around.

He spotted her immediately. Her eyes were closed. There was blood on her face. She wasn’t moving. Was she breathing? He crawled towards her, and through a fog of terror, managed to check her pulse. It was there, and it was strong, but he had to get her out of there – he could check for concussion at the foundry.

Afterwards, Oliver could never remember how he even got to Verdant.

He put her on the examining table, and the rest of the evening was like a nightmare: arguing with Diggle, holding Felicity once she woke up, trying to make sense of what was going on. Because this was his mess. Her face was covered in blood, she could have died, and this was on him. No matter what the others tried to tell him to the contrary – he’d fucked up. He’d let someone put a tracker on him, and he’d nearly killed her. The thought wouldn’t leave his head. She almost died, because of him. What had he been thinking? He was supposed to protect her, to keep her safe. He couldn’t even do that right. The thought kept repeating in his head, on a loop, and he couldn’t shut it off.

She was better off without him.

He tried to explain himself to Diggle, but the man wouldn’t listen. Diggle _had_ to take her home after checking her out, because what if they targeted his car next? He knew that didn’t make sense, because they’d tagged his Arrow suit, but all he saw was her body lying in the ruins of the restaurant, still and pale. Covered in blood. Oliver ignored Diggle’s angry glares. He knew what he was doing.

The next day, Felicity was already in the foundry when he arrived – this time, behind her computer monitor. She rattled out the name and probable location of the one responsible for the attack on the restaurant, and Oliver groaned.

Werner Zytle – also known as yet another Count wannabe. They’d been popping up like mushrooms ever since he’d killed the original. It didn’t matter. He would deal with this guy too. He barely spoke to Felicity in the foundry, ignoring her thinning lips and increasingly angry tone. He had to get back the edge he’d lost while he was living his dream of trying to lead a normal life. That kind of thing wasn’t for him.

On his way out of the foundry, his mobile rang. Diggle’s face appeared on the screen, and Oliver debated not answering it. Coward, he told himself. You owe him that much.

“Felicity told me you found the guy who blew up Luigi’s.” Diggle didn’t waste any time.

Oliver caught Felicity’s eye as she stood, arms crossed, glaring at him. This didn’t change anything, though.

“I’ll deal with him, Diggle. You need to stay out of this.” He was going for the cold tone he used to be so good at when he first came back. It had worked then, it should do that now.

“What the hell, Oliver! We’re in this together. We’re a team, remember?”

Oliver shook his head, even though Diggle couldn’t see him.

“You have a family, Dig. Your baby needs you. Lyla needs you. I can deal with this on my own.” He hung up without waiting for an answer, and turned towards the alley entrance, only to find Felicity standing in his way.

“Are you going to try to push me away too?” Her voice was full of barely suppressed anger.

“I’m not going to _try_. We’ll talk later.” He walked around her without a backward look, conscious of the fact that he was burning his bridges big time – it needed to be done. They’d see that, one day.

He clenched his teeth as he pushed his emotions as far down as he could. They weren’t important. What was important was getting this asshole off the streets. He’d done it before, on his own. He’d do it now.

Wrong again, Oliver. Sometimes his inner voice sounded like his father, other times it sounded like Slade Wilson, crowing about the fact that he only managed to fuck up everything he touched. Apparently Zytle had refined the Vertigo formula, and now it offered hallucinations of the subject’s greatest fear – which would have been good to know before he’d let himself get stuck with Zytle’s darts.

What Zytle didn’t know, however, was that Oliver didn’t just _fear_ his Bratva Captain alter ego, or at least, what he looked like back then. Oliver hated him. The moment Zytle’s angular features dissolved into his own reflection, wearing the business suit and long black coat that had been his uniform back then, Oliver felt nothing but pure rage. Every detail was loathsome to him now – the carefully masked expression, the black gloves, the silenced pistol in his holster. He let go, completely.

All his rage over Felicity’s near death, over his own stupid mistake, combined with his hatred for his former self, all that spewed over Zytle in an explosion of kicks and punches designed to maim, and kill. Zytle was no match for him. Just looking like himself in his Bratva days didn’t give the man his skills. Not that he had any skills left back then, he thought with contempt. All he’d been able to do was shoot people. Oh yeah, and choke women. Mustn’t forget that.

He could hear someone’s voice telling him to stop, but he had no intention of stopping. It took Lance a few seconds to drag Oliver off Zytle before he killed him.

“My backup’s arrived – you gotta get out of here.” Lance looked worried; that much Oliver could tell through the drug fuelled haze that masked his features. 

Oliver just managed to stumble out the back before the uniforms came barrelling through the door. He caught the snippet of a conversation before he staggered to the van, glad he hadn’t taken the Ducati instead.

“Was that the vigilante? Shouldn’t we go after him?” The rookie sounded painfully young and eager. Oliver felt sorry for him. Lance was going to tear him a new one.

“Is there something wrong with your eyesight, rookie? ‘Cause I didn’t see anyone.”

“No sir. I mean, yes sir – I mean-“

Lance took pity on the kid, and Oliver waited for a few seconds before starting the van. Some blocks away, he had to pull over to throw up. That fucking Vertigo.

“Oliver!” The voice in his ear made him jump. “Are you ok?” Felicity sounded worried.

“I’m fine – he just managed to dose me, that’s all. He’s down now, Lance was there. He got backup.”

“And where was your backup?” Felicity transitioned quickly from worried to angry. “What’s going on with you, Oliver? Is this about the restaurant?”

That she couldn’t see it – that she could just say it so casually. Of course this was about the restaurant. He was toxic. He needed to stay away from her.

“Felicity . . . we need to talk.” Immediately after saying it, he cringed.

Seriously, Oliver? This time it came in Tommy’s voice. He could practically see Tommy, shaking his head and murmuring ‘bad move, dude’. God, he missed him.

“What?” Felicity sounded furious, now. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her this angry. Maybe he should have saved this conversation for when she wasn’t directly in his ear. “You know what, no. We are not going to talk. Just get over here before you pass out.”

She cut the connection, and no matter how much he called her name, didn’t answer. She wouldn’t answer his texts, either. When he tried to call her on the phone, she was permanently ‘not in a position to respond’. Still, he was right. He knew he was. He’d been living in a fool’s paradise these past few months. All he had to do to harden his resolve was picture her lying on the ground, covered in blood, in those first few seconds when he wasn’t even sure that she was still breathing. His fault, all of it.

When Oliver arrived at the foundry, it was empty. The lights were still on, though. He found a post-it note on the main monitor.

_Lyla went into labor a few hours ago_

It was left up to him what to do with that information. So, he’d been right to tell Diggle to go be with his family. Why wouldn’t anyone admit it? She’d be better off keeping her distance too. He changed into his street clothes, and after a few seconds’ deliberation, took the keys to the BMW. He wasn’t sure he could handle the bike, and he couldn’t take their van to a hospital parking lot.

When Oliver looked into the hospital room and saw Diggle, Lyla and their beautiful baby girl, he could only think once again that he’d been right to try and distance Diggle from the vigilante business. Felicity was sitting next to Lyla’s bed cooing at the baby – Roy and Thea were in the corridor, looking in.

He congratulated Lyla while trying to ignore Diggle’s glares, which promised that a conversation was going to happen sometime soon.

In the middle of all this, Felicity got up, said her goodbyes, and stalked off. Thea looked at him with barely suppressed annoyance.

“Go after her, idiot!” Thea wouldn’t be saying that if she knew what he was going to say. Or maybe she would – and she’d call him something worse than ‘idiot’.

He easily caught up with Felicity, even though she was walking much faster than usual, her body practically vibrating with anger. He caught her arm and she turned on him, her eyes blazing with fury.

“I said no, Oliver! I don’t want to have this conversation! Or, wait, you know what-“ She took out her mobile phone and started tapping into it, faster than he could follow. “How did you get here?”

“I – what?” The conversation had taken a strange turn. Oliver wasn’t sure he was even having it anymore. Was this another hallucination?

“How. Did. You. Get. Here?” She’d never used the slow and deliberate ‘I am talking to a moron’ voice on him before.

“Uh – the BMW?”

She snapped her fingers, impatiently.

“Keys.”

“Pardon?”

“Give me the car keys, Oliver,” she answered, her deliberate patience suggesting that her temper was close to exploding, all over him.

He handed them over without another word.

“Hey, Thea!” His sister was standing in the doorway of Lyla’s room, watching the group inside indulgently. “Think fast!”

At that, Felicity threw his car keys in a high arc, and Thea caught them out of the air, a blinding smile blossoming on her face. She waggled the keys at Roy, who was out of sight in the room. Felicity turned and stalked away, talking fast over her shoulder.

“So, you can either come with me, or walk home. Your choice. Whatever conversation we’re going to have is not taking place in a hospital corridor.”

He caught up with her again, and he never knew what spirit of stubbornness caused him to say, “I could always take a cab.”

She turned on him like a fury.

“Try! Go on, try to make a phone call.”

The same mulish determination made him take his phone out. As soon as he touched a key, the screen dissolved to black and a message appeared on it.

_NO NETWORK, ASSHOLE!_

It was flashing on and off.

He looked up, and Felicity had already arrived at the elevator to the parking garage. He tried to talk to her once as they went down to her car.

“Felicity-“

“Shush! I said, I don’t want to hear it. Not here.”

She drove to her apartment in silence, and once they arrived, he had to walk fast to catch up with her. She opened the front door, and he followed her in. When she turned the lights on, his heart sank.

There were candles. There were muted lights. There was soft music playing. The finishing touch was that the table was set as it had been at the restaurant, and there were covered dishes on it. When he turned to her, she was standing with her arms crossed. She looked a little less angry than she had been.

“I looked up the online menu at Luigi’s. I ordered Italian takeout. I thought we could, you know, have a do-over, here, where we can have sex on the table if we want to. But that’s not what you had in mind at all, is it?”

All he wanted was to take her in his arms and never let go – but it was impossible, couldn’t she see that?

“Felicity, we can’t be together. I can’t be the Arrow, and be with you. Can’t you understand that?”

“No, I can’t! I don’t get why you’re reacting this way! Slade Wilson stabbed me and you didn’t do this!” Her eyes darkened a little at the mention of Slade Wilson; she’d told him about the feeling of confusion, of not knowing what had happened to her, that it had been worse than the pain.

“Slade Wilson – that was _your_ plan. This- this was _my_ fault, Felicity! I was off my game, and you almost died!”

Her eyes widened with anger.

“Seriously? Your hurt pride is why you want us to break up?”

“No, of course not! It’s not about that! I can’t risk you getting hurt because you’re a part of my life!”

“This is it, then? Some guy with a bazooka – do not correct me on what it’s called, Oliver, I can see it in your eyes – takes a shot at us and you give up?” She nodded, her eyes bitter. “You run away, like you always do.”

Oliver didn’t know how to explain to her, what to say to make her understand.

“I need you to be safe, Felicity. If that means I have to live without you, then-“

He broke off, unable to continue.

Her brows were furrowed as she looked at him.

“You need me to be safe.” She said the words slowly, like she wasn’t sure what they really meant. She shook her head, and then moved closer to him, giving a little sigh.

“I didn’t want to go there, Oliver, but you’re not giving me any choice.”

He looked at her face, puzzled. What was she getting at? The seconds passed like hours as she looked at him, chewing her lower lip in a way he found adorable, even as he tried to work himself up to walk away from her. She seemed to read something in his eyes, and gave a little nod. When she started speaking, it took him a while to understand what she was _really_ saying. Until it hit him. Like a brick.

“You know my mother died. Of cancer.”

The word hung in the air between them, and his blood turned to ice in his veins. He wanted nothing more than to leave, never to come back, so that he didn’t have to hear her say any more. He stared at her, wanting to make her stop, somehow. He couldn’t make out her eyes behind her glasses, couldn’t tell if she was crying, or angry, or just blank. He wanted to beg her to stop talking, but his lips couldn’t form words.

“Sometimes cancer can be congenital. That means-“

“I know what it means.” He barely recognised his own voice as he ground the words out.

“You can’t shoot cancer with an arrow, Oliver.”

He put his hands to his forehead, like he could beat her words out of his brain.

“It could be inside me right now, Oliver, and you’re worried about some guy with a gun and a grudge? A man you already dealt with, by the way. By beating the crap out of him.” She shook her head, smiling at him. How could she be smiling? “You can’t beat up cancer. It can’t be reasoned with. It can’t be bargained with-“

“Felicity, _please_.” How could she joke about this?

“Gallows humour, Oliver. You should try it sometimes.” She’d moved closer to him, and he could see her eyes, now. They were warm, and filled with love. He didn’t deserve it.

“I’m not as strong as you, Felicity.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, you do some dumb shit, sure. But,” she slipped her arms round his waist and rested her head on his chest, “I like you that way,” she finished.

Oliver gave up. His resolve left him, all in a rush. He was standing there, his arms at his sides while she wound herself around him like a vine, and he couldn’t remember why he needed to push her away, again. Even the thought of her getting sick made him want to rage at the universe for allowing disease to exist. After an internal struggle, he gave in, and let his hands rest on her back. She snuggled closer. Then she pulled back, and glared up at him.

“I hope you don’t think this means anything sexual is going to happen tonight, Oliver. My plan still stands, of making you beg-“

“Oh, I’m begging,” he interrupted. If she wanted to use humour as a defence mechanism, two could play at that game.

“-for forgiveness,” she concluded, still mock glaring.

“That too,” he said, nodding fervently, and she couldn’t hold back a giggle.

Then she sighed, and looked up at him quizzically.

“What was so special about the date, anyway? Apart from the fact that the restaurant got blown up.”

“I got a ring,” he mumbled, and he sensed rather than saw the pitying look she sent his way.

“Oh, _Oliver_ ,” she said.

“I know, I know. It’s too soon, right?”

Felicity hesitated, before nodding, slowly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to- I mean . . . On the other hand, you never know what might happen. Maybe we should- ugh. Ok. Let’s just wait for a while.” She sounded like she was torn, but trying to be practical about it.

He decided to give her some time before asking, and this time no jerk with an RPG was going to stop him. She settled against his chest with a happy sigh.

“Hey, I never asked you if you were alright – you said you got dosed?”

He tried to remember what she meant, but the smell of her hair was distracting.

“Focus, Oliver!” He _was_ focused – on her warm curves in his arms, rubbing against him.

“It was nothing much – just another version of Vertigo, with an added ingredient.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Not Mirakuru, then.”

“No, it was something that made you see your biggest fear.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “What did you see? Commitment?”

He gave her a look which tried to be stern, but wasn’t successful.

“No, it was me. When I was in the Bratva.” He shuddered. At her enquiring look, he continued. “I beat him to a pulp. Lance had to pull me off him.”

She looked a bit worried, but then seemed to let it go, trying to reassure him with her hand stroking his chest.

“So, when we first met, hmm? So hot,” she said, in her best dreamy voice. “So sexy.” She was trying to lighten the memories. He could tell.

“Yes, when I killed you,” he answered, tiredly.

He could see that she was thinking of a way to cheer him up, and then it dawned on him. It shouldn’t always be her tiptoeing around his emotions, and trying to raise his spirits. He was going to try something.

“Wait, don’t tell me. You got better.”

She gasped. He looked down at her and her eyes had turned smoky and dark, and a little smile played about her lips. He swallowed. He felt her hands at his waistband, opening his pants and slipping inside, and he moaned.

“I thought you were going to make me beg,” he groaned, even as his entire body told him to shut up. She’d started playing with his cock, and his hands had naturally gravitated to her ass.

“That was before you used Monty Python on me. You know I’m defenceless before your seductive powers, Oliver.” She slid her hands under his sweater and over his chest, and he moaned again.

“I must remember that,” he gasped.

She pulled him towards the couch and sat him down on it, then climbed into his lap.

“Aren’t you glad I’m wearing a dress today,” she murmured, as she pulled the skirt up and straddled him.

He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her deeply while she squirmed and rocked in his lap. He nuzzled her neck and she whimpered happily. Then she pulled away and glared at him.

“Oliver, you have to promise me one thing.” She was dead serious, he could tell, even though she didn’t try to stop him as he slid his hand up her skirt.

He nodded, not needing to answer. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming.

“I can’t go through this every time someone takes a shot at us, or every time I get hurt. Or,” she continued, lowering her eyes, “if I get sick.”

He shook his head, ready to protest that he’d never leave her if that happened, never, but she put her fingers over his lips, smiling.

“I mean, I don’t know the Queen family motto, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t ‘Feets don’t fail me now!’”

“I’m sorry, Felicity.” He kissed her fingers and crushed her to him, whispering in her ear. “I promise. I love you.”

Oliver wanted to say more, but couldn’t get the words out. He wanted to beg her never to leave him, to thank her for putting up with his bullshit, for not walking away from him when she should have. All he could do was hold her and shower her with kisses, knowing that this was his second chance, and that he was taking it, holding on to her, and never letting go.

_Hours later, Oliver and Felicity are asleep on the couch, a blanket covering them both. Her head rests on his chest, and his arm possessively circles her waist. On the floor next to them, their silenced mobile phones have been flashing on and off for the past half hour. The caller is Barry Allen, and Felicity would be happy to see that, if she were awake._

_Anyone watching from high above Starling City would see a red streak zooming through the city streets, which eventually resolves into an open faced young man with brown hair, and whose sneakers are on fire. He stamps them out when he arrives at his destination, which is Verdant. It is empty, and shuttered. He doesn’t know how to get into the foundry, so he gives up, and decides to go back to Central. Once Felicity starts answering her phone, he’ll tell her everything._

_So, Barry speeds away from Starling City, towards the sunrise, and home. Somehow, even though he doesn’t really know what’s happened to him, besides the obvious, and what might still be happening, he has a strange feeling of hope inside him. He feels it in his bones. Everything is going to be alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, final notes for this story - 
> 
> The incident when Felicity changes the outcome of the Slade Wilson incident was always the climax to the story, and the ending with them getting attacked by Zytle was always the ending. 
> 
> Once again, I wanted the outcome to be different - I hated that Felicity on the show didn't even try to fight for them, and my case was going to be different. Of course, in my case, they were already in a relationship, but did that stop Oliver from trying his usual bullshit? Of course not.
> 
> So, I hope everyone liked the ending (I couldn't leave Barry in a coma, could I?) - there might be some deleted (sex) scenes coming up in the future, or not. Depends on how blocked I get with anything else I'm writing!


End file.
